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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24564223">You'll never know, dear</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish'>what_a_dork_fish</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Happy Ending, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Gods, Humor, Jaskier is basically a Disney princess in this one, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Mess, Jaskier | Dandelion is an idiot, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Jaskier | Dandelion, apparently??? thank you to everyone who laughed, he gets his revenge don't worry, just adding all the tags I forgot earlier, this is a mess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:07:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24564223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fertility had existed for as long as life had. Well, of course he did; he was needed for the continuation of life, wasn’t he?</p><p>(prompted by the idea that Jaskier is a god)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>432</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I would like to take this time to accuse the Witcher fandom on tumblr for giving me the best ideas. Also I would like to apologize specifically to ilovejaskierthebard for not asking before snatching up her idea in my grubby little goblin fingers and writing it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fertility had existed for as long as life had. Well, of course he did; he was needed for the continuation of life, wasn’t he? The Mother had fashioned him and told him to watch over the world’s creatures. He had siblings, sisters: Love, Lust, Friendship, Protector of Children, and Protector of Parents.</p><p>Fertility was eldest, but it was his nature to be silly and immature and generous. If Fertility grew pensive and judgmental, he might hold back his powers. No, better to be a friend, a lover, lustful, protective; better to give all he had because he didn’t know any better.</p><p>The first time a creature gave up his gift for power, Fertility was so shocked that he nearly re-gifted them. But Mother held him back.</p><p>“There must be give-and-take for the little creatures,” She told her eldest child gently. “This is a powerful gift, and they must give it away to receive your brother’s gift of magic.”</p><p>“But the elves,” Fertility protested, baffled. “They are magic-workers, chaos-wielders, and they retain my gift.”</p><p>“Think, my darling,” Mother had replied. “Have you not felt your gift to them waning? They are doing to themselves what they have done to their beasts; as they gain power, they lose gifts. Give-and-take, my eldest.”</p><p>“Then I will give them my gift anew,” Fertility retorted, but Mother shook Her head sadly, Her immense head like the beasts She’d created first, the wolves.</p><p>“That is not how evolution works, my darling.”</p><p>So Fertility had watched, aghast, as his gifts waned. His younger brother Death created his own creature, Disease, and Fertility could only watch as Disease ravaged entire countries, eating away at his gift.</p><p>“You know, it’s actually easier for us,” his sister, Protector of Parents, said thoughtfully. “Well, think about it; the less of your gift they have, the less we have to worry.”</p><p>“And the less they’ll wear themselves out,” put in Death. “My children are getting tired, gathering all those worn-out parents.”</p><p>Fertility went away to a very tall mountain and thought about this. Perhaps his gift was not as good as he had thought. Perhaps there was less need for him, now that the populations of the world were getting on alright. Was there a need for him? Was there anything he could do for—</p><p>Something… happened.</p><p>Something plucked at his attention, and he gazed across the expanse of land he had picked to sit on, startled. What was that? Surely not his siblings calling him. This felt rougher than their calls. He stood, and spun on his toes, and was beside a woman who knelt by her hearth, crying. Fertility frowned. She was one who did not have his gift. Why—how had she called him?</p><p>Then he realized she was speaking.</p><p>“He’ll kill me,” she whispered, trembling, her hands clasped tightly to her chest. “He’ll kill me if I don’t give him a child. Please, Mother-goddess, please give me my fertility back.”</p><p>Fertility’s jaw dropped. And then, with a surge of joy, he spun again, and became visible to the woman, choosing a form much like hers. She looked up sharply, and gasped.</p><p>“Hello,” he said softly, grinning. “I heard you praying.”</p><p>“Who are you?” she whispered, terrified.</p><p>“Fertility,” he answered simply. “You called for me. And, well, if it will stop you from being killed, I will gladly re-gift you.” He held out his hand, forming the gift into a small, shining pearl. “Here. Good for ten years, and ten children. Of course, you don’t need to have that many; shoot for three, maybe. Wouldn’t want you to wear out.” When she hesitated, he reached towards her a little further. “Go on, take it. Just hold it in your hands.”</p><p>The woman reached out, her own hands shaking, and picked the pearl, cupping it in her palms. She stared at it, then gasped as it melted into her skin, leaving a golden glow behind that soon faded.</p><p>“Did that hurt?” Fertility asked.</p><p>The woman shook her head, then looked up at him, awed. “Ten children, you said?” she whispered.</p><p>“Yes. Oh, one last thing—how were you born? Was your mother alright after your birth?”</p><p>“I… I’m an only child,” the woman said. “My mother had to have an operation to get me out.”</p><p>Fertility pursed his lips, frowning. His sister, Protector of Parents, had warned him that sometimes humans died if they couldn’t give birth, and Death had confirmed it. Fertility hesitated, then asked slowly, “If I call on Mother—the Mother-goddess that you were praying to—would you accept another gift? To make it easier for you to give birth?”</p><p>“Yes!”</p><p>Fertility smiled brightly. “Good! Just a moment.” He knelt, and pressed his palms together, and asked, <em>Mother? Can you see us?</em></p><p><em>I see you, my love,</em> Mother replied, sounding amused. <em>I was remiss in not giving you this other power.</em></p><p>Her strength, like honey, sweet and strong and filling, flowed down into him, and settled into his new gift; the easing of the body. Bodies were where fertility lived, after all.</p><p>He looked up, smiling, and held out his hand again. “This one might hurt,” he warned the woman watching him. “It will involve changing your body a little.”</p><p>She scooted over and grabbed his hand firmly. “Anything to have a child,” she said, her eyes blazing, her expression determined.</p><p>So Fertility nodded, and gave her his new gift.</p><p>It hurt her, definitely; she gasped sharply, and tears rolled down her cheeks, and her breath came fast as the pain awakened panic. But it was over quickly, and Fertility stood, picking her up very gently and carrying her to her bed. He tucked her in, patted her hand, and said, “Call for someone to bring you something to help with the pain. I am sorry. But you will not die or become ill from childbirth, and in fact you may enjoy the process of conceiving a child more.” A cheeky wink, and she blushed but smiled shyly. “Oh—and please. Spread the word. I will help anyone who no longer has my gift.”</p><p>She nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered, smiling in relief. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Of course,” he murmured, and stroked her hair. “Good night, child.”</p><p>And with a quick spin, he was in the Halls of Gods again.</p><p>His siblings were already there, and angry.</p><p>His triumphant smile faltered. “What?” he asked nervously. “Did something happen?”</p><p>“You can’t have <em>two</em> gifts!” Keeper spat, chaos swirling around her hands. “It’s not fair!”</p><p>“Technically, it is only an expansion of my gift,” Fertility replied firmly. “And anyway, Mother—”</p><p>A large paw wrapped around his slender throat and squeezed. He gasped, and scrabbled at the paw, as pain seared through him. War, a new god, created by the humans, who had quite a unique skill in that they could create gods through worship. War didn’t like Fertility.</p><p>“You are annoying,” War growled in his ear. “We all were created for one thing. Why do you get <em>two</em>?”</p><p>“Because he is right,” Mother’s voice rumbled through the halls, making them all flinch. Through the swirling clouds that were the floor of the Hall, Mother gracefully paced. Her wolf-face was usually serene or smiling; now She snarled slightly, looking down on Her children, and the children of Her creations. “This is not two gifts,” She snapped. “This is an expansion. If you want more, ask for it.”</p><p>There was silence from the deities before her. Then War let go of Fertility, who collapsed to his hands and knees, panting from the pain.</p><p>“I want to be the strongest,” War demanded, puffing out his chest. “I want to be head of the gods.”</p><p>“That, I cannot give you,” Mother said coldly. “What say your siblings?”</p><p>The other grandchildren looked at each other, frightened. Finally, Disease stepped forward. “We elect War as our head,” it said, with a frightened glance at War. War grinned, showing all his sharp, sharp teeth.</p><p>“I want complete control over mortal hearts,” Lust spoke up, “So I can assist Fertility more easily.”</p><p>“That’s not at all fair!” Love retorted, dismayed. Friendship crossed her limbs and scowled. “We’re just as helpful to him!”</p><p>“If Lust takes over, what about us?” Fear demanded, gesturing to himself, Anger, and Despair. “What part of mortals can <em>we</em> have?”</p><p>And suddenly, the gods dissolved into bickering, entreating, and demanding. Fertility cowered from them all, horrified; Mother put back Her ears and shouted, “SILENCE!”</p><p>“NO!” Disease shouted back, and threw its scythe at Her.</p><p>Fertility watched with horror as the weapon transformed into a spear in midair, and grazed Mother’s cheek. Blood, black as night, welled up and dripped. She snarled and took a step towards Disease.</p><p>“You bleed,” War said in the sudden silence. “You can be killed.”</p><p>Fertility didn’t think. He jumped to his feet, spun, and landed a solid punch to War’s snout. Before War could fall, Mother’s head darted forward, and She bit off War’s arm. Blood spewed out, making the gods screamed.</p><p>“<em><b>So do you,</b></em>” Mother growled, with all the anger and pain the world had ever known.</p><p>All of the gods moved away from her, frightened—angry. Except Fertility. He looked at them all, squabbling fools, trying to take too much in an effort to gain the upper hand, harming Mother and speaking of Her death because She would not give them total power… and he became just as angry as Mother. His wings spread, and he stalked over to stand beside Mother, glaring defiantly at his siblings. He would fight all of them, he decided. Even his sisters. He would fight all of them if it would keep Mother safe.</p><p>The standoff lasted for a long time. Finally, Love stepped forward on trembling legs, and bowed her head in submission to Mother. She walked over to stand beside Her opposite Fertility.</p><p>Silently, the firstborn gods moved to Mother’s side, facing off against the creature-born. There were less of them, but they were far more powerful.</p><p>“Go,” Mother said finally, wearily. “Go back to your people. I will give you your gifts in three days’ time. There is no point in continuing to fight; we are all—”</p><p>War threw his spear and it lodged in Mother’s eye.</p><p>The Halls lurched. Everyone was thrown to the floor. Mother threw up Her head and howled in pain and anger and heartbreak, and then collapsed. Fertility screamed her name, scrambling to Her, but everything vanished. Light, clouds, the Halls—Mother. Gone.</p><p>He was alone in the dark.</p><p>~</p><p>Fertility never appeared to mortals in a physical form again. He simply gave them their pearls of gift by dropping it into their hands, and then left.</p><p>He felt… broken. Mother was dead. The Halls were gone. He traveled the world in the way of the gods, but not long after Mother’s death, the humans created their own deities of fertility, and drove the Eldest God out.</p><p>Well. Everywhere did but one.</p><p>The Continent, it was called. He had never liked it there, because of all the monsters his siblings had created. But they prayed to no other fertility god, so Fertility decided to just… settle there.</p><p>When countries went to war against each other, he was selective in which prayers to answer. When Disease’s children found their way to the Continent, Fertility aggressively strengthened healers and their herbs, so that they could cure the sicknesses faster.</p><p>He discovered that his gifts were no longer reserved for reproduction.</p><p>“Fertility” meant more, now. Imagination. Knowledge. The earth. Anything that required nurturing, Fertility could bless. And he did. And he discovered that, if he were angry enough, he could strip away fertility, too. That scared him, so after the first time, he swore never to do it again.</p><p>He didn’t know his siblings were plotting against him until the very moment they sprung the trap.</p><p>~</p><p>Julian Alfred Pankratz was dead in the womb, and the healer was comforting Viscountess Pankratz when, with a sudden blaze of light, a pearl fell from the ceiling, and the viscountess caught it instinctively. It was heavy, perfectly white, perfectly round, and truly lovely.</p><p>And then it… <em>dissolved</em> into her palms, staining them gold, and she gasped as a shudder of warmth filled her, and concentrated in her belly.</p><p>And she felt a kick from her dead child.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier was actually so, so glad to escape Oxenfurt, take up a new name, and become a wanderer.</p><p>Mother and Father had doted on him, and while it had been nice for a while, at about ten years old he began to feel… wrong. Different. Alienated. There was something different in his head. His mother wasn’t his mother, and he didn’t have a father. His three younger siblings, while cute, were not actually his.</p><p>Why did he have blue eyes, when Mother and Father had brown?</p><p>Why did he have flowers growing in his hair?</p><p>Why did he feel heavy and full and <em>broken</em>?</p><p>It was the flowers bit that truly terrified him. They were yellow, dandelions and buttercups and poppies, which stood out in his dark hair; and they didn’t go away. His maid cut them all down to his scalp and in two days they were back. But nobody seemed to care. He was a blessing, a miracle; of course he’d have something strange about him.</p><p>Mother had wept so hard when he left for Oxenfurt, and the people of the village all came to say goodbye—but Julian had been glad to leave. Maybe he’d find his answers out in the wider world.</p><p>The bullying he had received for being part-blood had been… terrible. The Oxenfurt nurse regularly attempted to yank the flowers out by their roots, but all that happened was immense pain and lots of blood and tears. Julian found comfort in books, in music—in being alone. It hurt that he couldn’t make friends. He was a part-blood, a freak, a monster, and he was lucky his parents were so stupid or they would’ve drowned him when he was born.</p><p>Jaskier was glad to graduate after ten years of having his spirit ground to dust, and learning to hide it behind spite and arrogance. It was easier to take the spitting on him, the routine “pruning”, the taunting of his parents, if he pretended they were jealous of his superior skills.</p><p>He even started to believe it, tentatively.</p><p>But leaving Oxenfurt… was wonderful. No one knew him on the road. He was just a bard with flowers in his hair and a voice like a siren and a disturbing tendency to just… <em>know</em> why something or someone was having trouble thriving. He couldn’t even explain it to himself. The earth was wrong for these plants. This child wasn’t learning the trade that would best suit them. This lady who desperately wanted a son was infertile. And who was Jaskier to deprive a woman of her greatest desire?</p><p>He left a trail of angry husbands and fathers along with a trail of blue-eyed babies.</p><p>~</p><p>A Witcher! A real Witcher! And the infamous Geralt of Rivia to boot! Jaskier was beside himself with joy as he trotted after the Witcher, chattering excitedly.</p><p>“—heroics and heartbreak!” Jaskier ended, desperate for the stink of the Witcher to be something other than—</p><p>“It’s onion,” the Witcher retorted shortly.</p><p>Jaskier scowled briefly. But then he brightened again, because they were almost there, and he was so excited! He took a breath to continue talking—and froze, closing his mouth sharply. There was something wrong. Something was very, very wrong up ahead.</p><p>“Something’s dying,” he said.</p><p>“What?” Geralt demanded. Jaskier realized he’d reined in his horse and was glaring back at him.</p><p>“Something is dying up ahead,” Jaskier repeated, knowing somehow, deep in his heart. He met those golden eyes squarely. “Something important.”</p><p>And before the Witcher could ask, Jaskier broke into a run, ignoring his sharp yell to get back here, damn it.</p><p>Jaskier stopped at the edge of the little valley. He could feel the flowers in his hair shivering, and not with the wind. His chest ached. It wasn’t a fast death. It was slow. There was a slow, painful waning in these hills. He looked around, feeling oddly distraught, searching for the dying thing. He didn’t know what he could do for the slow death of the valley, but he knew he should do <em>something</em>…</p><p>A pearl, a pearl in a woman’s palm, granting her a gift, granting her…</p><p>Jaskier walked forward, looking around, sometimes turning in place, hands outstretched at his sides as if to ward off, or maybe reach out and touch. A pearl dissolving into her skin, leaving a golden stain. A child, she’d wanted a child, her husband had threatened to kill her because she couldn’t have a child, and he’d given her—something. When? What had he done? Had it really been him?</p><p>The world was spinning, he could feel the flowers encircling his head putting out more blossoms, the pollen making him sneeze. But the death, the slow death, the decline in… in…</p><p>Someone grabbed his arm; he spun unsteadily, blinking hard, to see Geralt looking monumentally pissed—and then his golden eyes rose, and locked on Jaskier’s flowers.</p><p>“They’re dying,” Jaskier whispered, dizzy with memories—memories? Were these memories? Dropping pearls in waiting hands. “I have to help them, I have to give them… I don’t know, but they’re dying.”</p><p>“What the fuck are you?” Geralt hissed, eyes dropping to Jaskier’s face.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Jaskier replied. His distress was growing; they needed him, but he couldn’t help. Why not? What help could he give? He was just Jaskier, just a bard. But he needed to give them—something, something, he’d just had it, but it slipped away—</p><p>Pain in his head, and everything went dark.</p><p>~</p><p>Jaskier woke on a lumpy mattress, and whimpered at the pain in his head. Slowly, he turned away from the bright light to his left, and curled up, cradling his head in his hands. Owwwww.</p><p>“He’s awake,” whispered a frightened voice.</p><p>“How astute of you,” Geralt’s voice grumbled.</p><p>Jaskier blinked his eyes open and winced at the light. Slowly, though, the pain was fading. He was used to headaches, after all.</p><p>“Whuzz going on?” he mumbled, turning over on to his back again. “Geralt?”</p><p>“Thanks for waking up,” Geralt replied. “Maybe they’ll stop kicking me. Hrngh!”</p><p>Jaskier propped himself up on his elbows, blinking as a man-beast with horns held back a red-haired woman—a red-haired <em>elf</em>—from kicking Geralt again. Geralt, who was tied up across the cave from him, on the floor.</p><p>“What was that for?” Jaskier asked indignantly—then wondered at his feelings of indignation. “He’s already tied up.” Then he frowned, and looked down at himself. “Wait, why aren’t <em>I</em> tied up?”</p><p>“We don’t tie up gods,” said another voice, towards the back of the cave. Jaskier squinted through the last bit of pain, then blinked at the blond elf who approached him slowly, almost reverently. Him. <em>He</em> was part of what was waning. And the other elf—the elves, of course, they were waning, dying out.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>“I’m not a god,” Jaskier protested, sitting up fully. “I’m just… cursed or a part-blood or whatever.”</p><p>“We know godhood,” the blond elf replied frankly. “We know who was called on to aid in our slaughter. You are not… that one, though.”</p><p>“Of course not, I wasn’t even born.” Jaskier reached up to gingerly feel the lump on his head, and really had to dig deep through the flowers to find it. They always grew thicker when he was hurt. He was getting dizzy again, but not with pain.</p><p>
  <em>I will give them my gift anew.</em>
</p><p>What gift? Who?</p><p>He looked around, feeling hazy. “You’re dying,” he said frankly, and a little afraid. “That’s what… you’re dying out.”</p><p>“Yes,” the red-haired elf replied, as the man-beast let go of her. She looked scared of Jaskier. And hopeful. “Was that why you came?”</p><p>“No, but...” He frowned, and looked down at his hands. There was a gold shimmer to his palms. He remembered this. Every spring, when he was small, his hands would shimmer, and he’d sneak into the kitchen gardens and put his hands in the dirt and feel… peaceful. The crops were better the earlier he did it, all around their fief.</p><p>
  <em>I will give them my gift anew.</em>
</p><p>He seemed to remember someone telling him he couldn’t. But that person wasn’t around anymore (why did that make his heart ache?), and he could give his gifts to anyone.</p><p>What gift? He was growing angry with himself. What gift?!</p><p>A pearl formed in his left palm, shimmering, perfectly round, perfectly white, heavy with potential.</p><p>Suddenly, for a moment, he knew exactly what he had to do, and why, and what this was, and who he was, and what this all meant—his hands closed, he stood up and walked over to the blond elf, and held out the pearl.</p><p>“I think this is for you,” he said. There was no doubt, actually. But he didn’t know how to explain that, because after that moment of knowing, he was blocked off again. Mostly.</p><p>The elf stared at him—in awe? Then he slowly took the pearl, and held it in his own palm. It dissolved into his skin, leaving a golden mark. And the feeling of death lessened slightly.</p><p>Another pearl was already forming in his other hand as he turned and walked to the red-haired elf. He gave it to her; it sank into her skin. She gasped a little, her face lighting up. Death lessened again.</p><p>Jaskier didn’t really know what was going on, but he turned back to the blond elf and asked, “How many of your people remain? How many need the gift?”</p><p>“There are only a few dozen of us here,” the elf replied.</p><p>Jaskier thought for a moment, then reached up and tugged at the flowers in his hair. Three came out, roots and all, easily and with no blood. A dandelion, a buttercup, and a poppy. He turned back to the red-haired elf and pressed the flowers into her hands. “Plant those somewhere safe,” he told her. “Somewhere the humans won’t find them. It’ll be slow, but I...” he blinked as he realized what he was saying. What were these words, these actions? They weren’t <em>him</em>. But he knew they were <em>right</em>. So he continued. “I can’t give all of you gifts immediately. These will provide, if you keep them safe.”</p><p>She beamed at him, and he was suddenly very uncomfortable, because he hadn’t actually done anything. Just… given them back what they had lost.</p><p>What had they lost? What was going on?</p><p>“What the hell is going on?” Geralt asked from the floor.</p><p>Jaskier looked down at him, and answered honestly. “I have no fucking clue. But this is right.” He wondered if he should give Geralt the gift—but no. Give and take. He hadn’t really done the giving, but he had been forced to do the taking. So… not yet.</p><p>“The gifts of a god, Witcher,” the blond elf said, and he sounded a little stronger than he had before. “That’s all you need to know.”</p><p>Geralt looked so incredulous that Jaskier had to laugh. He stopped when Geralt glared at him accusingly, but he couldn’t help grinning. “They’re dying,” he told Geralt. “This will help them not die.”</p><p>The Witcher’s eyebrows rose, and he looked startled, then calculating. “Hm,” he said.</p><p>Jaskier turned to the blond elf. “Can we leave? We’re sorry for trespassing.”</p><p>Geralt sighed quietly but everyone ignored him.</p><p>The elves and the man-beast were perfectly willing to let Jaskier go, but they argued about Geralt. Geralt managed to draw attention and argue on his own, and Jaskier was frankly surprised at the way he spoke. He’d barely said anything around humans, but here, he was comfortable enough to tell the elves to go, and find somewhere to grow strong again.</p><p>It was very kind but monumentally stupid to hand over all his money, but Jaskier bit his tongue and instead thanked the elves politely, blushing as they thanked him back sincerely, and followed Geralt out and down and back to that lovely horse who kept trying to eat Jaskier’s flowers.</p><p>“There should be a song about this,” Jaskier decided suddenly, as they left the valley. “About the elves. About getting away from them. What do you think?” He looked up at Geralt on his horse, and saw that Geralt was frowning at him. Not annoyed—more puzzled.</p><p>“Depends what you mean,” Geralt replied. “How did you get away from the elves?”</p><p>“How did <em>we</em> get away.” Jaskier turned to face front, thinking, stroking the band of the lute he’d been given, since his trusty old friend had cracked irreparably when he’d fallen on it after being knocked out. It was quite a sexy lute if he did say so himself. The elves were not going to waste away as long as they kept his gifts, but they would need to be careful and do as Geralt suggested. Leave. Hide. They would need protection.</p><p>Protection. If Jaskier were to write a great song about escaping the elves, he’d need to make it sound like the elves had been easily driven away, so humans wouldn’t go looking, or think they needed to arm up and prepare for retaliation. And, well, they’d kicked Geralt. And tied him up. So he deserved some payback.</p><p>Payback. Pay. <em>Perfect</em>.</p><p>Jaskier grinned and swung his lute around in front, settling it comfortably in his arms. “Geralt of Rivia, my dear friend,” he announced, “I am going to write you a ballad that’s going to get you more coin than you’ve ever had in your long life.”</p><p>“Please don’t,” Geralt grunted, but Jaskier was already gleefully composing in his head, fingers plucking out a rough tune. Oh, this was going to be <em>fun</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I promise future chapters will be better quality I swear</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello, what's this, why it's another chapter, I am so sorry.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier was rather disappointed when Geralt told him one autumn evening that Geralt was going home for the winter and Jaskier was not allowed to come.</p><p>“Fine,” Jaskier grumbled, flopping on his bedroll and stretching like a cat, smirking a little when he saw Geralt watching. There had been several moments over the past months when Geralt had obviously been aroused by Jaskier, but had not said or done anything. It was annoying, because Jaskier was frequently aroused by Geralt, but it was also fun, because as long as Geralt kept wanting Jaskier and not doing anything about it, he would let the bard come with him. Desire did funny things to people, and no matter how many humans called Geralt a monster, he was just as much a person as them.</p><p>“Where will you go?” Geralt asked abruptly, recalling Jaskier’s attention.</p><p>Jaskier hummed and unlaced his shirt-collar a little, knowing that the glimpse of his chest would make Geralt—yep, he’d grabbed his sword and was polishing it aggressively. He was so easy to predict sometimes. “I think I’ll head south,” Jaskier mused, tucking his hands behind his head. “Maybe I’ll return to Oxenfurt, not sure.”</p><p>“Mm.”</p><p>“Why do you ask?”</p><p>Silence. Jaskier rolled his eyes, and prodded again, watching Geralt polish the mirror-bright sword with a hefty frown. “What, did you want to meet up next year? The White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, and his humble traveling companion, the bard Jaskier, reunited?”</p><p>“I never want to see you again,” Geralt growled, but there was no finality in his tone. He almost sounded… no, Jaskier was just assuming again. But there was a hint of unease on his face, and that simply would not do.</p><p>Jaskier kicked his feet, heels thumping on the hard ground. “That is very rude, Master Witcher,” he said with a pout. “I, who have been doing my damned best to ease your way around the continent like myself in a brothel—”</p><p>“Shut up, Jaskier.” The polishing cloth gave way to the whetstone, a sign of worse agitation. Jaskier recognized this signal, too, and settled with a sigh.</p><p>“Fine, fine.”</p><p>Silence again. Geralt relaxed, and put his sword away again, and settled down to meditate. Jaskier watched, as his tense expression eased, and his shoulders relaxed, and he seemed to be asleep. But he wasn’t. He’d told Jaskier that Witchers didn’t sleep often; meditation, when they had the time, was as close as they could get. Which, well, Jaskier could see the appeal; Geralt was never groggy or tangled in blankets after meditation, and would snap into awareness at the slightest hint of trouble. But he really wished Geralt could sleep.</p><p>Jaskier moved his hands and laced them over his stomach. He felt himself grow drowsy, as he watched the firelight play over the peaceful expression on Geralt’s face. Why was he more comfortable here, on the cold ground, in a forest, with a Witcher, than in a soft bed in a warm inn with a lovely prostitute? Why was this a safer place to be?</p><p>Why did Jaskier want to go with Geralt so badly?</p><p>He fell asleep pondering that.</p><p>He woke, as usual, surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers.</p><p>“One night,” he groaned in exasperation, rubbing his closed eyes. “<em>One night</em> where this doesn’t happen. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”</p><p>“Breakfast is done,” Geralt said, ignoring Jaskier’s plaintive plea.</p><p>Jaskier stretched fully before sitting up and turning on his bottom to glare blurrily at Geralt, who looked fresh as daisies. He wasn’t looking at Jaskier, munching on an oat cake.</p><p>“I despise mornings,” Jaskier grumbled, crawling out of his patch of grass to the fireside. Usually, they sat on opposite sides; but this morning, Geralt was sitting much closer to Jaskier’s side of the fire. Well, Jaskier had no objections. He sat where he usually did, and ate his share moodily. He was cranky this morning and he wasn’t sure why. Geralt’s words last night? No, that had just made him sad. This was… this was…</p><p>“We should skip the next town,” he said suddenly.</p><p>Geralt shot him a startled look. “Why, because you’ve slept your way through every unhappy wife there?”</p><p>“No.” Jaskier washed down the last of his oatcakes with water. He felt like hitting something. “Just… we should skip it.”</p><p>Geralt looked at the flowers in his hair. Jaskier already knew that Geralt had learned to read them, but he himself wasn’t sure what they meant. Right now they were agitated, ruffling with a breeze that wasn’t there, and he could feel more slowly growing, thickening the sparse circlet. This was more than crankiness, this was <em>anger</em>, and Jaskier knew that if they stopped in at the town, he would probably punch someone.</p><p>“I need supplies,” Geralt said finally. “I have to go in.”</p><p>“They’ll drive you out.” Jaskier knew this, as surely as he knew his lute. “It’s not safe.”</p><p>“Since when do you worry about safe?” the Witcher retorted, but hesitated when Jaskier met his eyes. Then he nodded and stood. “Fine. We should go now, then, so we’re well past by nightfall.”</p><p>Jaskier stood too and began packing up.</p><p>The closer they got to the smaller road to the town, the stronger Jaskier’s anger, until it became rage, and then incoherent fury, and then Geralt stopped their little trio, made Jaskier mount Roach, and then tied Jaskier’s hands together with some spare rope. Distantly, Jaskier was grateful for this; it would be harder to get away and do something terrible like this. But in the moment, he was almost blind with rage, shaking with the urge to <em>hurt</em> someone—</p><p>It began to fade, slowly, slowly, and he came down from his fury gasping and cramping in his limbs from holding himself so still and tight. The sun was setting. They were past the town. Geralt stopped Roach, untied Jaskier’s hands, and helped him down, catching him when he stumbled. Jaskier was trembling, shocked at his own emotions.</p><p>“Face forward,” Geralt ordered gruffly. Jaskier did so, and started walking—but his left thigh seized and he yelped and fell. Geralt sighed and scooped him up like he weighed barely anything. Now the trembling was also from pain, as muscles spasmed randomly, and Jaskier wasn’t even sure <em>why</em>.</p><p>Geralt was warm, and warmth helped. Jaskier turned into Geralt’s warmth, pressing his face into Geralt’s shoulder, gripping the edges of his armor with both hands. Geralt walked on, carrying him, until he found a good place off the road to hide and camp. Slowly, the cramps eased, and then Jaskier was absolutely exhausted.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said softly.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Geralt grunted.</p><p>It wasn’t. But it was nice of Geralt to lie like that.</p><p>Geralt crouched when he reached a nicely-hidden place, and set Jaskier on the ground. Jaskier let go of him, but before he could stand, Geralt said, “Don’t get up. Stretch, <em>carefully</em>. We’ll talk later.”</p><p>So Jaskier stretched, flinching with every twinge, but doing what he could. When he got to the point where he could lay flat on the ground, loose-limbed and completely relaxed, he did just that, closing his eyes and breathing through the last vestiges of pain. The scent of his flowers lessened, as his emotions settled and the extras died and fell off his head. He felt… drained. Used up. And so very tired.</p><p>“Asleep?” Geralt grunted.</p><p>“No,” Jaskier replied, opening his eyes and turning his head to look at Geralt. “I… have no idea what that was, so I won’t lie or anything, but I <em>will</em> say, please don’t go back tomorrow. He’s still there.”</p><p>“Who?” Geralt asked, looking up from skinning a rabbit with a heavy frown.</p><p>Jaskier tried to say he didn’t know, but instead what came out was, “My brother.”</p><p>“...I take it you don’t mean your blood-brother.”</p><p>“I...” Jaskier blinked at Geralt, trying to make sense of these scrambled thoughts in his head. All he could grasp was that his brother was in that town, and that if either of them went there, it would be a death sentence. “No. Yes. Maybe. I think. I don’t know. Gods.” He turned his head away and covered his face with his hands.</p><p>“You’re growing grass again.”</p><p>Jaskier didn’t care. He felt the grasses rising around him, smelled the sweet flowers, and desperately wished he could hide in these lovely plants forever and ever.</p><p>“The trees are a little much, Jaskier.”</p><p>“Trees?” he repeated numbly, and removed his hands.</p><p>Ten saplings stood around him, in a ragged oval, growing at an alarming rate. He sat up and they stopped, but the branches kept growing out, and if he didn’t move quickly they’d end up tangling and trapping him. So he stood, wobbled, and edged out of the oval. Every step sprouted plants, and he looked down in dismay as standing in one place popped grass and moss and weeds and flowers into an ever-widening circle.</p><p>The sound of digging made him look up. Geralt was kneeling on the ground a little ways away, digging holes and stuffing bits of herbs into each. “Three steps closer,” Geralt commanded, watching the dirt intently.</p><p>Jaskier took three steps towards him, bewildered, and gave a little gasp as the spreading circle of growing things reached the holes and herbs exploded up—the ones Geralt had planted, only alive and bigger and more vigorous than the ones Jaskier had seen him pick or buy.</p><p>“But they were dead!” Jaskier spluttered. “At least the grass was going to grow anyway!”</p><p>Geralt was too busy harvesting to answer.</p><p>Roach ambled over and began cropping the grass that was starting to claim the whole clearing, her ears pricked in interest as she chomped. Jaskier reached out to her, and she walked over, sniffed his hand, then lipped his fingers gently. Since she had bitten him twice and stomped on his foot three times over the past months, it was awe-inspiring to see her simply content to taste him and then go back to her feed.</p><p>When Geralt had finished planting and harvesting, the clearing was knee-deep in sweet flora, except where Roach was gleefully stuffing herself. The little oval of trees was taller than Geralt, and pushing out lots of leaves.</p><p>Jaskier was also feeling more… energetic. Emotional. More like he had been yesterday. Like watching these plants grow was easing something in his soul. He actually didn’t mind sitting in the gently-waving grass and breathing the scent of <em>growth</em>, of <em>life</em>.</p><p>“Geralt?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“What do you think I am? My parents kept calling me a miracle, but I must be part-blood. But I don’t know what I am.” He looked over at Geralt, who was watching him with narrowed eyes. “Any ideas?”</p><p>“No,” Geralt said.</p><p>Jaskier sighed and thunked his head down on his knees. Of course. Oh well. He was fairly sure Geralt would kill him quickly and without him knowing. So there was that small comfort.</p><p>“At least the rabbit is still dead,” Geralt muttered. “Start a fire.”</p><p>Jaskier sighed again and set about clearing a spot for a fire pit.</p><p>Geralt searched out dead wood for fire, since neither of them trusted Jaskier’s current state to not bring the wood back to life. Jaskier managed to find enough stones to line the pit, and cleared the area around the pit, muttering fiercely, “Do <em>not</em> grow back while there’s fire here. Don’t do it. Absolutely not. You’ll get burned. Do not grow while we have a fire burning.”</p><p>The grasses started creeping up again, until he said sharply, “Don’t you <em>dare</em>,” and then it stopped, very short and thick. Jaskier rolled his eyes and went to fetch flint and steel.</p><p>Fire was another thing that grew for him, if he nurtured it properly. It never got out of hand, but if he got sparks to catch, and gently blew on them, and fed the fire slowly, it grew cheerfully. Unfortunately, that night was not one where he trusted himself with plant matter; so Geralt did the feeding of the fire, and when it was large enough, he roasted the two rabbits he’d killed and hung a little pot of water and rice over the fire to cook. Jaskier plucked some flowers from his head absently and fed them to Roach, who, again, only gently lipped his palm instead of scraping him with her formidable teeth. She liked his flowers more than meadow grasses, wild plants, and even sweetened grain, a rare treat when they were allowed in barns and she snuck a dip in a cow’s feed. It was odd, but Jaskier had realized he could bribe her with his flowers.</p><p>“You’re getting fat, Miss Roach,” Jaskier murmured to her fondly, scratching her chin. “All nice and round for winter. I know you only like me for the food, but you’re a lovely lady, yes you are.”</p><p>“Why are you baby-talking my horse,” Geralt said heavily from beside him. Jaskier started; he hadn’t heard Geralt come over and sit next to him, but there he was, so close their knees almost touched as they both sat cross-legged. He looked quite aggrieved, and Jaskier couldn’t help smiling.</p><p>“Because she’s a good girl and deserves all the love,” he retorted, and turned back to cooing to Roach, who rumbled and only backed away when the rabbit was done. She’d try cooked meat if allowed, which was kind of creepy, but she’d learned that Jaskier wouldn’t share willingly either. So she just ate her plants and got nice and fat and energetic, and Jaskier eased into her good graces.</p><p>“She’s been healthier,” Geralt noted suddenly, frowning at Roach in a puzzled manner. “I try to let her graze as much as possible, but that’s not enough.”</p><p>“Maybe this stupid plant-growing thing isn’t so bad when there’s a horse around,” Jaskier mused, and tore into his rabbit.</p><p>It was nice to sit quietly and eat, as the reaction to his own fury faded. When he’d eaten, he started humming. He couldn’t think of words, but he had a tune that he liked, so he got up and fetched his writing supplies, sitting exactly where he had been and beginning to sketch out lines for writing down the notes.</p><p>“What are the lines?”</p><p>He looked up, surprised. Geralt was frowning at the pages, baffled. Jaskier began to grin, slowly.</p><p>“They mark notes,” he explained, tapping the spaces and lines in a progressively higher chord. “Each space and line represents a certain pitch. I’m going to be writing in a certain key, or range; this range, actually.” He cleared his throat and sang the progression of notes, using “la” as the easiest syllable. He continued, “That’s the range my lute plays in, so I have to write with it.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Geralt’s eyes flicked between his face and the pages. “What’s the correlation between the sounds and the squiggles?”</p><p>Jaskier laughed. “They’re not squiggles! They’re the symbols marking which note and how long to hold it. See how these are divided into equal portions? This is a measure. I’m writing in a 4/4 time signature, meaning it’s four quarter note beats. This is a quarter note,” he drew one swiftly, then angled the paper so Geralt could see, “This is a half note, and this is a whole note. There’s also eighth notes and sixteenth notes, but I won’t use those for the opening of the song.”</p><p>“Why are they doubled?” Geralt asked.</p><p>“Because that’s how the length works. For every note that you cut in half, you have that many notes in a measure. A 4/4 measure holds one whole note, two half notes, four quarter notes, and so on. Like, oh, cutting a piece of firewood in halves. Eventually there’s a point where I, personally, can’t <em>sing</em> the note that short, but instruments can hit them if the player has fast fingers.”</p><p>Now Geralt’s frown was thoughtful, as he leaned closer. “And you know what it all means immediately?” he asked. “All music?”</p><p>“Not all, nor immediately” Jaskier replied, feeling practically delighted that Geralt was interested. “You have to look at other signs to know what key you’re in, what the measures are, what effects the composer wanted—such as increase the volume, or decrease, until you hit the desired level; reading music is easier for me than writing it down, but I know others who felt the opposite, and there were a few poor souls who could only play by ear and never got the hang of reading music.”</p><p>“Hm.” Geralt narrowed his eyes at the pages, then sat up. “No wonder you had to go to a university to learn all that.”</p><p>Jaskier laughed again. “It’s not like university was <em>only</em> for reading music! We did plenty of other things. But anyway, now you know more than you did.”</p><p>“Mm.” Geralt glanced at the sky, then the fire. “It’s too dark to keep writing.”</p><p>“Just this one tune, and then I’ll sleep.”</p><p>It was a long tune, and when Jaskier finished, he was yawning. He took off his doublet, tucked his writing things away, and crawled into bed. The long grass hid him completely, and he hummed happily, surrounding by growing things.</p><p>~</p><p>The next day, Jaskier did not make things grow in his footsteps. He did, however, have to ask Geralt to prune his flowers, which was embarrassing, but they weren’t dying and falling like usual. Geralt seemed uncomfortable, and very ginger with his knife and handling Jaskier’s head and neck, and Jaskier realized suddenly that it must be strange to have someone trust him like this. Trust him with a knife, trust him with his bare hands against delicate human flesh, trust him enough to sit relaxed and talk normally.</p><p>But Geralt wouldn’t hurt him. Jaskier was so sure of that, that there was no space in his head to wonder at his unwavering conviction. Geralt wouldn’t hurt him, and there was no point being afraid.</p><p>They fed the flowers to Roach, who actually pranced a little with eagerness as she realized she was going to get treats without needing to do anything for them.</p><p>They walked, and walked, and walked, and Jaskier was his usual bright self, and Geralt was his usual silent, grumpy self. Their next camp, after building a fire, Geralt sat next to Jaskier and asked, “What does the… range sound like on your lute?”</p><p>Thrilled to finally have appreciation of his work, Jaskier happily showed him how his eight-string lute could make hundreds of different sounds depending on where his fingers were. He also told Geralt about how tightening or loosening the strings changed the pitch. Geralt listened to all of this intently, and asked questions that weren’t quite what Jaskier expected, but that still made him excited to share.</p><p>“What if a string breaks?” Geralt asked at one point.</p><p>“Then I make a new one,” Jaskier replied without hesitation. “It takes a lot of care and concentration, and it’s much better to just purchase them, but I can make my own. The strings themselves are made of gut, which isn’t hard to find in the wilderness, but you need special treatments, and of course cleaning them is a nightmare.”</p><p>“Hmm. Can a left-handed person play your lute, or will it be backwards?”</p><p>“An excellent question! Yes, the strings will be backwards, but it’s not impossible to learn. It just takes lots of practice and dedication. Look!” Jaskier turned the lute in his lap and played a short melody, grinning at Geralt’s surprise. “I suppose I should write a noble ballad about Filavandrel after all.”</p><p>“In thanks for an instrument?” Geralt grunted.</p><p>“Of course! A bard’s instruments are his livelihood. Without this lute or my voice, I wouldn’t be able to put food in our mouths. By the way, what’s for dinner?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'll try to wrap this story up quickly because I don't like how it's going</p><p>Also, quick note because I forgot: There's some beating on our Best Boi but there is only an attempt at rape, and Best Boi gets his revenge (in a sort of sideways way). If you'd like to skip that part, you can stop at the cold bath and start back up at the part where they reach the healer in the next village. I'll summarize the in-between bit in the end note.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier had been on the road only a few weeks after the last snowfall when he ran into Geralt again.</p><p>Literally.</p><p>Jaskier was running from an angry father. This time, he had <em>not</em> actually gotten to the point of love-making; the man had seen Jaskier flirting with his son and decided that it was Jaskier’s fault for “poisoning” his boy, and thus Jaskier must be killed with a meat cleaver. This was entirely unfair, but, well. Not new.</p><p>So Jaskier skidded around a corner and slammed face-first into a solid wall of muscle and leather that didn’t even budge.</p><p>“Ah, sorry, excuse me,” Jaskier gasped, darted around the wall, and kept running.</p><p>He got turned around and ended up in the common, and as soon as he stopped he couldn’t run any more. He gasped for breath, legs trembling, and looked around wildly for an exit.</p><p>An excited whinny broke through his panic, and when he spun, he saw Roach charging towards him, swerving at the last second to run circles around him before slowing and thrusting her muzzle in his face, snorting and then sniffing him all over. Jaskier laughed in surprised delight and automatically plucked some flowers from his hair and gave them to her.</p><p>“It’s purely cupboard love and don’t think I don’t know it,” he told her affectionately, before looking up sharply at the sound of yelling. Roach threw up her head too, chewing busily and looking at the gate he’d left open in his wake.</p><p>The man with the meat cleaver was nowhere in sight, but people were still looking between Jaskier and the source of the yelling curiously. After a few minutes, the yelling stopped. Jaskier sighed in relief and sagged against Roach’s shoulder.</p><p>“Run out before I could even finish earning enough for a night at the inn,” he muttered, then sneezed. “Gods, Roach, you <em>stink</em>.”</p><p>She just rumbled and tried to eat his hair.</p><p>Jaskier wandered to the fence and hoisted himself up to sit on it, scratching Roach and cooing to her. She was acting like an absolute puppy and he didn’t know why. Most mares in his experience were… well, <em>mean</em>. Or at least cranky. But Roach had gone from biting him at every chance to resting her chin on his shoulder and letting him run his fingers through her mane. Maybe it was the flowers.</p><p>It took a while to realize Geralt was there, carrying a large bundle and some saddlebags.</p><p>“I finished the contract here,” he told Jaskier bluntly, and slung the saddle bags up on Roach’s back. “Here’s your coin.” He handed Jaskier a small purse that clinked. Jaskier hurriedly stuffed it in his belt pouch.</p><p>“I’m coming with you,” Jaskier stated, rather than asking.</p><p>Geralt glared at him, but did not tell him no.</p><p>Their first night in the hills, away from people, Geralt dug in his saddlebag while Jaskier coaxed the fire into being, and when the flames were merry and bright, Geralt walked over and handed Jaskier a small waxed paper packet. Jaskier was about to ask what was in it when he noticed the embossed signet.</p><p>“Oxenfurt Supplies,” he breathed, his eyes widening. “Geralt, how…?”</p><p>“Did a job near there,” Geralt grunted, and walked away.</p><p>His hands trembling slightly, Jaskier opened the packet and peeked inside. Strings. Lute strings, neatly coiled and absolutely perfect, as if Geralt had just carried them out of the shop. Jaskier wanted to cry. One of his strings was fraying, and he wasn’t sure how long it would last; but here were the best money could buy, all for him. A better present than any fine wine or soft silks.</p><p>He slipped them into his belt pouch, careful not to crush the paper, and just stared at Geralt, speechless. Geralt finally met his eyes after rubbing down Roach, and looked away again quickly.</p><p>“They’re just lute strings,” he grumbled.</p><p>He didn’t know. He really didn’t know. Jaskier didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How many nights had Geralt gone hungry for these?</p><p>Jaskier didn’t even want to know. He felt terrible for that, but he really didn’t. So instead he took off his pack and lute case and settled beside the fire, stretching his arms and back.</p><p>They got right back into traveling together, a routine Jaskier relished. He still woke up in clouds of plants. He still fooled around and sometimes got chased out of town. But there was something about having Geralt at his side that was simply delicious. After a few weeks, Jaskier stopped having sex. He’d realized he wasn’t as interested in other people when Geralt was literally ten feet away—usually less, when they shared beds to spare coin. If he could’ve fucked Geralt and gotten this fascination out of his system, he would’ve tried.</p><p>But he was dismally aware that he wouldn’t just want one hard fuck. He wanted to be tender, show Geralt kindness and gentleness, draw him carefully to the finish without hurting him. He wanted to make love, not just fuck.</p><p>Oh well. He ignored these wants and wishes and instead poured his vigor into his work.</p><p>Toss A Coin To Your Witcher was popular across the Continent, so Jaskier felt confident in sharing some of his newest songs about Geralt. Not all of them specified Witchers; some were just silly songs about a hardened traveler who tried to be stoic and blunt, but was actually a complete sweetheart. Geralt did not like those ones, but they earned money, so he didn’t grumble very hard. And when Jaskier wrote a new one about the traveler meeting and having to put up with an even sillier bard who only wrote songs about horses, Geralt rolled his eyes but let his face soften a little.</p><p>~</p><p>Geralt was looking at a notice board, reading rewards, when Jaskier first casually touched him in public, putting his elbow on Geralt’s shoulder and leaning against him.</p><p>“Not drowners again,” Jaskier groaned, “I’ve already written a song about drowners!”</p><p>Then he realized that Geralt was very tense, and actually trembling very slightly. Jaskier blinked, and looked up at him—and realized, when someone behind them gasped, that this was the first time Jaskier had truly shown his lack of fear in front of witnesses. And it was making Geralt very uncomfortable.</p><p>Jaskier straightened and rubbed his hands together. “Well, if you take the drowners, I’ll just stay at the inn,” he said airily, stepping away to give Geralt a bit of space. The tension in his body eased a little. “Try not to get bitten again.”</p><p>“Hm,” Geralt said.</p><p>He did, indeed, take the drowners contract—but then he also took one for ghouls, and Jaskier did his best not to show his exasperation. When Geralt took multiple contracts in one night, it meant he was upset about something. Jaskier hardly thought a moment of touch would be upsetting, but then again, he didn’t know Geralt’s thought process, only his actions. So Jaskier set up in the inn and sang and played and earned a room, a meal, and a bath upon Geralt’s return. Poor man would probably be absolutely filthy, and Jaskier refused to share a bed with a man covered in blood and gore.</p><p>His insides shivered, but his voice didn’t catch and his fingers didn’t stumble.</p><p>By the time he really did have to let his throat ease, it was midnight, and there was no sign of Geralt. Jaskier tried not to worry. Two contracts usually took a long time.</p><p>The publican ordered out all the patrons who weren’t renting rooms. No Geralt.</p><p>Jaskier finally asked for the bath, cold, please, so it could be brought up faster and everyone could go to bed. This was agreed upon, and soon Jaskier was alone in his room with a cold, slowly becoming tepid, bath—and no Geralt.</p><p>Finally, <em>finally</em>, heavy footsteps up the stairs, down the hall, and stopping in front of their door. Jaskier jumped up, ready to greet Geralt and scold him for taking so long—</p><p>It wasn’t Geralt.</p><p>It was one of the patrons, a bull of a man, and very drunk. He grinned at Jaskier, and said, “No Witcher, eh? I get you all to myself.”</p><p>Jaskier went cold.</p><p>~</p><p>When Geralt came back around dawn, Jaskier flinched and pulled tighter into the corner between the bed at the wall, on the side away from the door.</p><p>“Jaskier?” Geralt actually sounded concerned. “Jaskier, where are you?”</p><p>His lip trembled. He wanted to answer. He really should answer. But all he could manage was a tiny whimper.</p><p>“Jaskier.” Five long strides and Geralt was in front of him, kneeling. Not close enough to touch—but blocking his escape, unless he went over the bed. He hid his face in his knees. Geralt wouldn’t hurt him, he knew that. But…</p><p>“Who did this to you?”</p><p>The fury in Geralt’s voice made Jaskier curl up tighter. He still couldn’t make himself speak.</p><p>“I’ll kill them,” Geralt snarled, and Jaskier reacted without thought, lurching forward and grabbing the front of Geralt’s armor.</p><p>“No,” he gasped, the bruises on his throat aching sharply. “No, he’ll hurt you.”</p><p>Geralt didn’t grab back. He just said, “I’ll hurt him worse.”</p><p>And then Geralt yanked away and strode out of the room.</p><p>Jaskier allowed himself another sob, before returning to his previous position, and waiting.</p><p>The sun was higher and brighter when Geralt returned. He stomped around, shoving things back into their bags, but when that was done he came back and knelt in front of Jaskier and asked softly, “Can you stand?”</p><p>He tried. He really did. But his legs were cramping and he was still shaking. Geralt helped him up, gently, and didn’t back away when Jaskier hugged him tightly and buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder. He still stank like blood and gore and swamp, but Jaskier didn’t care anymore. Even the stink of death was preferable to the memory of the smell of his own blood, alcohol fumes, and the rage of a man who thought raping a human was somehow more acceptable than raping a part-blood freak.</p><p>He got off easy. No broken bones. But he still hurt.</p><p>Geralt gently lead him out of his safe little corner and out into the larger space of the room. Jaskier raised his head when he heard a soft gasp, and saw the publican and his wife gaping at him. He turned his face away and hugged Geralt harder.</p><p>“So now you know why someone was screaming,” Geralt growled, one arm gentle around Jaskier’s waist. “Go away.”</p><p>Two pairs of feet scurrying away. Geralt lead Jaskier towards their bags and Jaskier’s lute, hefted all of it onto one shoulder, and murmured to Jaskier, “You have to let go now. I’ve got you. You’ll be alright.”</p><p>People stared. Jaskier kept his eyes on the ground, and his hand clenched on the back of Geralt’s jerkin. The stables were safe, no people, but they had to leave the stables to get out of town. So he gripped Roach’s reins loosely in the hand that hurt the least, and hid between her and Geralt as they left.</p><p>Walking was fine. But from his hips up, there were little nodes of pain everywhere. The man hadn’t been a good beater, but the grips around Jaskier’s wrists and throat had been… painful. After an hour of walking, the last bit of shock fell away, and Jaskier just stopped in the middle of the road and started sobbing.</p><p>Geralt was there immediately, wrapping his arm gently around Jaskier’s shoulders, letting him turn and hug Geralt so tight it hurt the bruises on his arms and the strained muscle in his shoulder. He wasn’t sure how long he cried, but eventually he ran out of tears, and when Geralt nudged him, he nodded and went back to walking.</p><p>They stopped near a river. Geralt rinsed himself and his shirt, then asked—<em>asked</em>, not demanded, <em>asked</em>—for Jaskier to take off his shirt too, so Geralt could see the bruises. Jaskier did so, carefully, flinching at every starburst of pain.</p><p>“Fuck,” Geralt hissed. “Are you sure nothing’s broken?”</p><p>Jaskier nodded, gingerly touching the huge purple bruise over his left kidney. Gods, he hurt.</p><p>“The river’s pretty cold. Get in, it’ll numb the pain a little.”</p><p>Jaskier walked hesitantly into the river, not caring about his leggings. They’d dry as they walked. But the water <em>was</em> impossibly cold, and when he was in up to his waist, he took a deep breath and let his knees fold, submerging himself completely.</p><p>It was a shock, and it hurt, but after a moment it numbed his skin, and then his muscles, and then he had to stand again. It took some flailing, but he managed, gasping for breath and shivering hard. Then, as the numbness faded, he did it again. Anything to get rid of this pain.</p><p>When he had dunked himself a total of four times, he waded out of the river, teeth chattering he was so cold. Geralt was pulling his heaviest shirt out of his pack; they weren’t that different in size, but Geralt had thicker arms and liked his shirts to be loose at the waist, so it would be comfortable. First Jaskier dried off with the shirt he had just stripped out of, then accepted the warmer shirt and dragged it on. The aches were slowly getting bad again, but the bright sun was warming the black wool nicely, and Jaskier felt a little more like himself. Carefully, he touched his head. Buds were growing in, to replace the flowers yanked out by the man who’d hurt him. Slowly, because he was afraid and hurt; but they were growing, nonetheless.</p><p>“Did you find him?” Jaskier asked—whispered, really, because his throat hurt so bad.</p><p>“Yes. He was dead.” Geralt looked rather annoyed, and Jaskier wondered if it was because Geralt really had wanted to be the one to kill him. “He choked to death; there were dandelions growing out of his mouth, and they obstructed his airway.”</p><p>Jaskier nodded carefully. Then he stepped forward and leaned his forehead on Geralt’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered.</p><p>Geralt just patted his back and said, “We should be able to make the next village by nightfall. They might have a healer.”</p><p>~</p><p>There was indeed a healer, who tended Jaskier and tried to get him to say Geralt had hurt him, but Jaskier felt a flare of anger and snarled, “He hasn’t touched me except to help.”</p><p>This startled the healer considerably, but she continued treating his bruises, and healed the cracked rib that Jaskier hadn’t even noticed. Geralt paid her from his own purse. Jaskier tried to get up and leave, but both Geralt and the healer glared at him and he laid down again, grumbling.</p><p>He spent two days and three nights mostly sleeping and drinking the nasty potions the healer made for him. Geralt found work, somehow, and the healer told Jaskier with a frown that the entire village was baffled at how Geralt was willing to do the most mundane, bloodless tasks, just to keep busy. But he never forced his help, and he refused payment. It was almost like he cared more about Jaskier than money, the healer mused.</p><p>Jaskier rolled his eyes, but his throat was twinging again, so he didn’t say anything snide or sharp.</p><p>On the third day, however, the pain was nearly non-existent, and all that was left of the bruises were mottled colors. Jaskier hummed scales gently the whole morning, before greeting Geralt cheerfully and at his normal volume. Not even the healer missed the relief on Geralt’s face.</p><p>They were on the road again that afternoon, and Jaskier chattered happily just for the sake of talking. He sang too, just for the sake of singing. And he kept close to Geralt, just for the sake of knowing he was safe with his Witcher.</p><p>When they found a campsite for the night, Geralt sat close to him and asked, “How do you write a song?”</p><p>Jaskier, delighted, detailed his personal process, and explained how to write the notes down, and how to annotate the notes to fit what it sounded like in your head. He wrote out an example melody, a short one, and went over everything he could do to change it to fit a particular sound in his head. Geralt seemed interested, if not fascinated. Jaskier was absolutely ecstatic, to be honest, that Geralt was as interested in Jaskier’s work as Jaskier was in his.</p><p>It was very late when Jaskier yawned so wide his jaw cracked, and realized that he should probably lay down.</p><p>“I’ll keep watch,” Geralt said.</p><p>“Alright,” Jaskier replied sleepily, and barely managed to put his things away before bundling up on a mattress of swiftly-growing grasses and falling asleep.</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>Half-blood freak!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A fist knocking into his jaw, and then hands around his throat, choking him, hurting, hurting so bad, please stop, please, please stop please stop please stop</em>
</p><p>~</p><p>He woke on his back, gulping air, feeling his neck frantically to make sure there were no hands trying to kill him. A shape stooped over him—but moonlight glinted on metal studs and white hair, and yellow eyes gleamed, and Jaskier relaxed, still shaking, but not terrified.</p><p>“Jaskier?”</p><p>He reached blindly and grabbed Geralt’s wrist, holding his hand tightly, calming down as the memory faded and he slowly accepted that he was safe. Geralt didn’t say anything else, just held Jaskier’s hand and watched him, until Jaskier fell asleep again, comforted by those piercing golden eyes and the smell of blood and leather.</p><p>~</p><p>The nightmares were rare, and quickly became disjointed and more like his normal nightmares of monsters tearing Geralt apart before pouncing on him. He only woke up twice more in the next three months, yanking his collar and feeling his neck to make sure there were no other hands; and both times, Geralt came and sat next to him, and Jaskier slept better afterwards.</p><p>It was only in the eleventh month of their acquaintance, after a particularly grueling battle, when Jaskier was sitting next to the bathtub that Geralt was boiling himself in, that Geralt suddenly asked, “Why are you never targeted?”</p><p>Jaskier paused in his vigorous complaining of the mayor who’d tried to stiff Geralt, to blink at his Witcher. “What?” he replied blankly.</p><p>“When I let you come with me. Even if the monster gets close enough to touch you, they never do.” Geralt was frowning like he did when faced with an especially obnoxious riddle. “That griffin passed you like you weren’t even there.”</p><p>“I was hiding, wasn’t I?” Jaskier retorted, miffed. “Like you told me to.”</p><p>“Not very well.”</p><p>“Hmph. Maybe it’s the part-blood thing.” Jaskier fingered his circlet, which was quite thick after that encounter. Strange how no one even seemed to notice it except Geralt. “Maybe monsters don’t like eating other monsters.”</p><p>Geralt snorted in derision. Then he said, “Filavandrel said you were a god.”</p><p>“Bullshit,” Jaskier retorted flatly. “Gods know when they’re gods. I’m just a human. You missed some blood in your hair.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So after our baby gets beat up, Geralt finds him huddled in the corner and decides to try and get revenge, and Jaskier is afraid but doesn't stop him. When they leave the village, Geralt tells him that the guy who attacked him died via suffocation, because he was found with dandelions growing out of his mouth and obstructing his airway. Geralt is a bit miffed because he didn't even get a chance to avenge his traveling companion.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was rather depressing, parting ways with Geralt yet again. Jaskier kissed Roach’s nose gently, patted Geralt’s arm, and watched them go on the road to the mountains. He felt lonely immediately. Which was silly. But he watched them go for a long time, chest heavy, shoulders drooping, and thought he saw Geralt look back over his shoulder at Jaskier. He probably didn’t. Jaskier waved anyway, and went the other way.</p>
<p>It didn’t take long to find a court to hole up in for the winter. He bedded some maids, entertained when asked, and wondered worriedly if Geralt was alright, stuck up in a terrible mountain with winter storms and no way to get supplies if he ran out of something important. No, he was fine, he’d been doing this longer than Jaskier had been alive. And the other Witchers would take care of him, and each other. It was going to be alright. They could meet up next spring.</p>
<p>The lord got tired of Jaskier’s impish ways before Midwinter, but the lady of the court liked him, and the noble children <em>adored</em> him. If they gave him the silk flowers used for decoration around the keep, he showed them how to make little crowns and necklaces and even how to bend the wires to make single-flower rings. The youngest daughter said with a pout that she wished there were yellow flowers, like Jaskier’s.</p>
<p>That night, he snuck out to the forest, dug up a bucket of freezing dirt, came back to his rooms, and planted a few flowers that he trimmed from his head. In just a few days, just in time for the gift-giving on Midwinter Day, he brought a cloud of yellow flowers to the children, and with cheers they all sat down in a circle on the floor with him and made their own crowns. Jaskier grinned and helped the youngest daughter finish the end of her circlet of buttercups.</p>
<p>He knew the servant children would be lucky to even get a coin from anyone but their parents and each other; so he made more crowns and necklaces and rings, whispering over all of the flowers that grew when he needed them, “Luck. Prosperity. Imagination. Courage. Let’s give those dears the gifts they deserve.” And he passed them out to the serving children, who were just as delighted to receive flowers from the funny bard who knew how to make them laugh, even as they worked. He made sure not to gift any adults. That might be misconstrued. Children only.</p>
<p>The lady of the keep started flirting with him, and he flirted back, but thinking about Geralt’s acerbic comments about angry lords made him hesitate to take her up on any offers of bedding. It wouldn’t be right, especially since he needed to stay until the first melt.</p>
<p>The night his palms shimmered gold, he knew it was time.</p>
<p>So at midnight, when everyone but the guards were abed, Jaskier crept to the kitchen garden, knelt in the shadows, and buried his hands in the freezing dirt beneath the ice-glazed snow. He sighed in relief as the strange, uncomfortable feeling of being stuffed with… <em>something</em>, eased. It was just like when he was a child. This garden, and the land around the keep, would be fertile and strong for many years to come, as the power in his chest and belly flowed out through his arms to whisper sweetly to the earth and plants.</p>
<p>When he was empty of power, he went back to his room and slept deeply.</p>
<p>The next day, he helped the gardeners with the sudden awakening of plants in the hothouse, blossoms aggressively sending out pollen, leaves popping out where they were unwanted, shoots appearing early, just in general much silliness from these excited plants. Jaskier muttered in annoyance to them as he helped the gardeners prune and tame and redo the beds.</p>
<p>“Why’d you have to go and wake up so fast? Silly flowers, you should have waited. I hope you don’t get tired early. Ow! Don’t poke <em>me</em>, ungrateful roses! I’m trying to help!”</p>
<p>The gardeners shook their heads and murmured, “That’s bards for you,” and ignored him, not noticing how the plants behaved much better for him than them.</p>
<p>The first snow melt was that day, and that night he allowed the lady of the keep to entice him to her bed. They both thoroughly enjoyed it, but when she asked him to stay, he gave her a cheeky grin and said, “Nah, I’d rather not take the chance of your husband finding out and punishing us both. This was much too nice not to write a song about. Thank you for the offer, dear lady.”</p>
<p>He left the next day, after hugs for all the children and hand-kisses for all the women, including the cook, who smacked him gently for the impudence, but still smiled.</p>
<p>And thus, Jaskier set out on his merry way, whistling a jaunty tune and wondering eagerly when he’d get to see Geralt again.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The arachne woke him from his sleep by stroking his cheek with one furry foot and chittering.</p>
<p>Jaskier yelped and scrambled to his feet, trying to back away but tripping over a root and falling heavily on his back. The arachne chittered more in agitation, and scurried after him.</p>
<p>“Back off!” Jaskier yelped, pushing himself upright again and trying to kick it away. “I have a knife and I’m not afraid to use it!”</p>
<p>Bullshit, of course. He had a dagger, but he <em>was</em> very afraid. Arachnes scared him more than any other monster, to the point where when Geralt had taken a job against them last year Jaskier had firmly elected to stay at the inn without Geralt even telling him to. Something about the way they skittered about and waved their legs just terrified him.</p>
<p>He was on the edge of pissing himself when the arachne paused, then jumped and landed on his legs. He screamed, but terror froze him in place, and he was quite aware that there were tears on his face as he waited for the monster to bite him.</p>
<p>Instead of biting, it folded all its legs up and settled in his lap. Like a fucking puppy.</p>
<p>Jaskier stared at it, speechless. It was less terrifying with its legs curled in, but still made him shake. Oh gods. Oh fuck. He was going to be arachne supper any minute now. He whimpered.</p>
<p>The arachne chittered very softly and sat very still.</p>
<p>A small noise made his head snap up, and he saw a shape approaching through the trees—humanoid, with a gleaming silver sword, and yellow-gold eyes.</p>
<p>“Oh thank Melitele!” Jaskier sobbed as the Witcher sidled closer, and the arachne remained relaxed in Jaskier’s lap. “<em>Please</em> kill this thing, I don’t care if you cut off my leg when you do, I swear I don’t know why it’s doing this oh gods I’m going to die—”</p>
<p>“Shut up,” the Witcher hissed. Jaskier did with a gulp, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe through the panic. The wretched creature was still in his lap, like it fucking <em>trusted</em> him. Why. Why was this his lot in life. What did he do to deserve such punishment.</p>
<p>The Witcher finally stepped up beside him, lowered his sword, and used the tip to flip the arachne off Jaskier’s lap.</p>
<p>The creature screeched and flailed, and then the Witcher lunged and stabbed his sword down, right through the arachne, pinning it like a beetle on a card. Jaskier sobbed in relief as the arachne curled its legs, shuddered, and was still.</p>
<p>“Oh gods,” he whispered, clutching his chest and refusing to look at the arachne. “Oh, <em>fuck</em>.”</p>
<p>And then a sword dripping with arachne blood pressed against his throat, lifting his chin. He stared up at the Witcher, a little surprised, but mostly still in shock from having a fucking <em>arachne</em> on his lap.</p>
<p>“Who the fuck are you?” the Witcher snapped.</p>
<p>“Jaskier,” Jaskier replied.</p>
<p>The Witcher froze for a moment, then muttered, “Well, shit,” and took his sword away. Then he leaned down, grabbed Jaskier’s upper arm, and dragged him to his feet. The Witcher was shorter than Geralt, and thus Jaskier, but he was still a solid wall of muscle, and his face was much harder and more suspicious. His hair was short and brown and he had a painful-looking scar over his eye.</p>
<p>“You know any Witchers by name?” this particular Witcher demanded.</p>
<p>“I know Geralt,” Jaskier replied, quite glad that this one was still holding on to him, since his knees were definitely weak. “Why? Did he tell you about me?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” The Witcher let go and moved away, then stopped and looked back at Jaskier, glaring. “You coming?” he demanded.</p>
<p>“Uh.” Jaskier stepped towards the little hollow between tree roots that he’d been sleeping in, and grabbing his lute and pack. “Yes, I suppose.”</p>
<p>The Witcher led him through the woods, not very far, but far enough that Jaskier was less shocked and more curious. They then happened upon a clearing, where a horse stood, munching grass and not caring that they had walked in on it.</p>
<p>The Witcher turned to Jaskier and said, “Geralt told me monsters never touched you, but he didn’t say they <em>liked</em> you.”</p>
<p>“They don’t,” Jaskier snapped, slinging his lute over his head. If there were arachne in these woods, he was definitely moving on, despite the darkness and his exhaustion from walking all day. “That thing was probably waiting to eat me. Thanks for killing it, by the way.”</p>
<p>The Witcher grunted. Then he said, “You shouldn’t sleep out in the wild without protection.”</p>
<p>“I know that,” Jaskier replied, irritated, “But there isn’t much shelter or protection around here, is there?”</p>
<p>“There’s a logging village barely a mile away.”</p>
<p>“Oh! I see! So I, a mere human without magical mutations that make me invincible and able to smell people from five miles away, should just <em>know</em> where other humans are? Goodness, how did I not <em>realize</em>!” Jaskier’s voice grew increasingly loud and angry as well as sarcastic, and his hands and arms waved in grand gestures in a way that he’d been trying to train himself out of. “Forgive me, dear sir, for not fucking knowing there were huge fuck-off arachnes wandering around looking for prey!”</p>
<p>The Witcher glared at him through all of this. When Jaskier stopped, hands fisted at his sides and trying very hard to breathe calmly, the Witcher had the <em>audacity</em> to say, “Well, I can see why Geralt likes you.”</p>
<p>“Why he—! Oh, FUCK YOU!”</p>
<p>For some reason, that made the Witcher grin. “Definitely see it,” he said.</p>
<p>Jaskier turned and stomped away, downhill, his back ramrod straight as fury buzzed under his skin. He was furious because he was tired, and scared, and wanted to cry, and knew deep down that it was a lie. Geralt did not like him. Maybe he lusted for Jaskier, but he did not like him. Jaskier didn’t know why his lip was trembling as he thought of that. It shouldn’t hurt. Geralt had said often that Jaskier was a pain. But for some reason, remembering that Geralt didn’t like him made him sad.</p>
<p>He heard the pattering of many-limbed creatures scurrying around to his sides and in front of him, and familiar chittering.</p>
<p>He immediately turned and sprinted back up the hill, dodging roots and branches and screaming “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”</p>
<p>The Witcher was actually laughing so hard as he killed the arachne that had found Jaskier, that even through terrified sobs, Jaskier managed to find the breath to shout insults about the Witcher’s mother, fighting technique, and his flat ass.</p>
<p>When the creatures were dead, Jaskier curled up in the middle of the clearing and just cried, exhausted and afraid and angry and absolutely miserable. The horse ambled over and started eating the thick ring of flowers on Jaskier’s head.</p>
<p>“Eh, you’ll be fine,” the Witcher said carelessly. “Thanks for drawing them in like that.”</p>
<p>“Fuck you,” Jaskier sobbed into his knees.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>He felt a little better in the morning. A little. He didn’t argue when the Witcher said, “You’ll get lost on your own. I’ll take you to the village, and then we’re quits.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, whatever,” Jaskier mumbled, and kicked the sack of arachne eyes that the Witcher had collected as proof of killing the nest, lightly. “I hope they only pay what they promised.”</p>
<p>The Witcher snorted. “That’s a blessing, not a curse.”</p>
<p>Jaskier muttered something about the Witcher being the most annoying man in the entire existence of men, which only made him grin wickedly.</p>
<p>They made it to the village, and while the Witcher argued for payment, Jaskier stomped off in search of the inn. He parted with a little too much coin for a hot meal and a hotter bath, but it was worth it, to stuff himself with good stew and then go upstairs and soak off the dirt, fear-sweat, and general unhappiness of the night, scrubbing his face with soap and water as well. He washed his hair, too, which made him feel even more like himself than just washing his face. His flowers closed obediently while he washed around them, then opened after the last rinse.</p>
<p>He extracted his second outfit from his pack and put it on, and wondered wearily if he had the coin for both a room and laundry. Counting his money, he realized he didn’t. Shit. Okay, so he’d have to play, and hope his grouchiness didn’t show.</p>
<p>He was a performer. Of course the grouchiness wouldn’t show.</p>
<p>Jaskier stepped out of the bathing room with his things and headed down to the tavern to ask if he could play for a bed. He put on a charming smile and smooth-talked his way into being allowed to play, but before he could turn away and find a seat, the barman added, “Oh, and that Witcher left this for you.” He held out something metal with a rolled-up scrap of parchment attached to it. Jaskier, puzzled and wary, took the thing and the paper.</p>
<p>It was a pendant on a leather thong, much like a Witcher’s, wrought iron in a sharp, stylized shape—but instead of a wolf head, it was a little circle of flowers. Dandelions, buttercups, and poppies. There was a bird in the middle.</p>
<p>Jaskier unrolled the paper and read it.</p>
<p>
  <em>G made this for you. We already took the piss out of him for it, so no need for you to bother. Don’t know how he knew I’d see you first. You better wear this or he’ll sulk. --Lambert</em>
</p>
<p>Jaskier put the necklace on, tucked the paper in his doublet, and went to set up by the fire to sing for a bed.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>He left that village with some traveling food and a little bit of money, and kept going. He paid for a ride from a passing farmer, and settled in the back of the wagon and watched the world pass dreamily. The draft horses were slow but steady, and Jaskier truly did appreciate the rest for his poor legs.</p>
<p>His hand kept rising to touch the pendant Geralt had made for him. He stubbornly did not think about any whys or hows.</p>
<p>It wasn’t so much a village that the farmer drove to as it was just a collection of six houses around a well. Jaskier jumped off the wagon, thanked the farmer, and kept going.</p>
<p>He was walking in the dusk when he heard a low growl.</p>
<p>He whipped around, heart in his mouth, and saw several spectral dogs creeping towards him, snarling. He swallowed hard… and remembered what Geralt had said, and Lambert, and what had happened over the past two years. Slowly, carefully, he crouched and held out his hand.</p>
<p>One of the creatures stalked forward and sniffed him. Then it walked closer, and sniffed Jaskier’s face. Jaskier flinched when the creature opened its mouth—and spluttered as it began licking his face vigorously, making strange little noises like a happy, living dog. The others took this as permission to surround him, sniffing and licking, all of them wagging their tails. One barked and bounced on its front legs, bowing and barking again. The sound made the hair on the back of Jaskier’s neck stand up, but he grabbed a stick and threw it. Four of the spectral animals immediately chased it, fought over it briefly, and then carried it back to Jaskier, their tails wagging. He laughed weakly, and petted some of the dogs with shaking hands. Their fur was surprisingly soft, though it made his skin crawl to touch them.</p>
<p>“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. This is really fucked up. But thanks for not eating me.”</p>
<p>The dog that had approached him first whined and licked his face again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>o no what is this???? a meeting with a new friend????? (or just a dick)</p>
<p>Also I am going to lean heavily on certain, ahem, Aspects of our baby bard for a couple more chapters. Then I shall move on. It's fiiiine.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am incredibly disappointed with myself for the next two chapters but anyway here is this while I rewrite them</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier never again was afraid of monsters.</p><p>They didn’t stop attacking and hurting humans, of course. But some of the weaker ones he could yell at and they would slink away, especially the humanoid ones like drowners and ghouls. If he ran into wolf- or dog-shaped monsters, they would happily frolic around him, and he could distract them by playing fetch or tug-o-war with a stick. If they were even vaguely feline, they would twine around his legs, before curling up on his feet, effectively pinning him to the spot. If they were insectoid, they would let him chop off their heads with his dagger. He wasn’t <em>afraid</em> of the insect ones, but they did still creep him the fuck out. And they hurt people. So.</p><p>Strangely, humans weren’t afraid of him. Not even the ones who saw him distract, control, or kill monsters right in front of them. They saw the pendant on his chest, and after a while, he realized they thought it meant he was a Witcher.</p><p>Not a scary, broody Witcher with swords and black clothing and armor and a penchant for scars and muscles. A funny, friendly, colorful Witcher, who didn’t have scars, although he certainly had muscles. A Witcher who wasn’t a Witcher because Witchers were monsters, but here was a Witcher who was just human, just like them.</p><p>He gave up trying to understand. He was just grateful that killing and controlling monsters meant he got free baths and laundry, and bigger audiences.</p><p>He ran into Geralt about two months after meeting Lambert, and he knew it was Geralt because even in the dark with his hood up, he was unmistakable. How, Jaskier really didn’t know. He just knew that when he stepped out of the inn for some fresh air and to cool down from playing and singing in a packed room with a roaring fire, he spied a man leading a horse and felt a surge of delight.</p><p>“Geralt!” he cried, and ran right over, though he remembered himself enough not to hug Geralt, not when they could be seen. “Thank fuck, I thought I’d never find you again! How are you? Do you need a room? Food? Have you kicked that asshole Lambert in the dick yet?”</p><p>Geralt, who had been very startled by Jaskier’s welcome, grimaced. “Can we not talk about Lambert?” he grumbled. Then his eyes caught on Jaskier’s pendant, dark against the light linen of Jaskier’s shirt (he’d unlaced his doublet to escape the heat). “You’re wearing it.”</p><p>Jaskier rolled his eyes dramatically and put his hands on his hips. “Of course I’m wearing it, idiot. I don’t just get rid of gifts from friends. Now are you staying the night or not?”</p><p>“...yes.”</p><p>“Good. I’ll tell Marn you’re here so she isn’t suspicious.” Jaskier smacked Geralt’s arm lightly and hurried back inside, grinning.</p><p>Marn, the innkeeper, was still suspicious when Geralt walked in, but Jaskier’s bright introduction and his hand on Geralt’s arm smoothed the waters considerably. When Geralt asked about the job on the noticeboard, she looked puzzled, and jerked her head at Jaskier. “He did that one. Those damn bugs just stood there like they were frozen when he started cutting them to pieces.”</p><p>Jaskier blushed. He hadn’t even known he was being watched as he killed the monsters, but when Marn and her daughter had offered to pay him, he’d been too confused and nervous to take the money, and instead asked for a bath.</p><p>Geralt blinked, then turned his head and narrowed his eyes at Jaskier. Jaskier shrugged. “I wasn’t even in the village bounds yet, I didn’t know there was a reward posted. Hey, Marn, how much for another helping of soup and some of that delicious bread? This one never eats right.”</p><p>Marn actually smiled warmly at Jaskier. “Free, even for another Witcher. But you’ll have to share the room.”</p><p>“That’s fine with me,” Jaskier replied, grinning. “Thank you so much, dear.”</p><p>Marn chuckled and walked away. Jaskier pushed Geralt gently towards an empty corner and murmured, “Go on, sit. I’ll explain later, I promise.”</p><p>Geralt grunted and went to the corner.</p><p>Jaskier bit his lip as he watched Geralt walk away, wondering if he’d really fucked up, but someone called for him hopefully, so he spun and plastered on a bright smile and went back to his place to sing and play and entertain.</p><p>When it was time for bed, Jaskier went upstairs tired but elated. He’d drunk a little too much, and things were getting a little fuzzy, but he managed to open the door to his room and stumble in without too much trouble.</p><p>Geralt was standing in the middle of the room, still in his armor, scowling. Jaskier grinned at him and closed the door before skipping over and hugging Geralt tightly, ignoring his offended grunt.</p><p>“They think I’m a Witcher,” he slurred, nuzzling Geralt’s neck. “I started… uh, what’s the word… not hunting, because it wasn’t hunting, I just started kinda, y’know, going where there was trouble and con… convin… con-vin-sing monsters to either go away or let me kill them. Started killing them more often, lately. They just kinda… let me. Really weird. How do you smell so good when you haven’t bathed in days?”</p><p>“They think you’re a Witcher,” Geralt repeated flatly.</p><p>“Yeah. Izz the pendant, I think. Looks like a Witcher’s. No, you can’t have it back, I <em>like</em> it. Izz pretty.”</p><p>Geralt sighed heavily and uncrossed his arms to push Jaskier away, ignoring his tiny, disappointed whine. “You need to sleep,” Geralt grumbled.</p><p>“Stay?” Jaskier asked hopefully, grabbing Geralt’s arms. There seemed to be two Geralts, which was very strange. “Here? With me?”</p><p>Geralt grunted. “Might as well. You’re just going to follow me anyway.”</p><p>“Tha’z the spirit!” Jaskier replied happily, and started searching for the buckles to undo Geralt’s armor.</p><p>“Stop it!” Geralt snapped, pushing his hands away. “Go lay down.”</p><p>“Fine, but you gotta come lay down too,” Jaskier retorted, then stumbled to the bed and barely managed to take off his doublet before falling diagonally on the mattress. He managed to roll into place, and listened with his eyes closed as Geralt took off his armor, and then his boots, and then presumably his shirt. Geralt then laid down beside Jaskier, stiff and radiating heat. Jaskier immediately turned on his side and tried to snuggle him.</p><p>“Get off of me,” Geralt growled.</p><p>“Hmph,” Jaskier pouted, and rolled on to his other side. Strangely, his eyes prickled, and his chest felt heavy. All this time apart and Geralt wouldn’t let Jaskier hug him. It seemed dreadfully unfair.</p><p>After a long moment, Geralt cursed ferociously, before turning over and yanking Jaskier towards him, wrapping his arms around the bard and holding him still and secure.</p><p>“This doesn’t mean shit,” Geralt snapped.</p><p>Jaskier just grinned smugly, relaxed against him, and fell asleep.</p><p>~</p><p>Odd how Geralt said it didn’t mean anything, but didn’t let go in the morning. Not that Jaskier minded. His head hurt and he was cold without a blanket. Being cradled against Geralt’s chest with Geralt’s fingers stuck in his flowers was quite lovely.</p><p>And then Geralt had to ruin it by waking up, grunting, “Shit,” and yanking his hands away, rolling away from Jaskier. Jaskier huffed and sat up, rubbing his eyes.</p><p>“Breakfast,” Geralt said firmly, and stood, stooping to grab his shirt. Jaskier admired the movements of his muscles beneath his skin, but also felt a twinge of guilt, that Geralt was obviously going hungry while Jaskier was being practically stuffed by everyone who was in a position to give him food. Absolutely no fat on that body. How could he maintain all that muscle if he couldn’t feed himself right?</p><p>Jaskier decided that this year, he was going to try and give Geralt a gift, too. The gift of abundance.</p><p>“Hey, Geralt?”</p><p>The Witcher was combing his hair with his fingers before tying it back. “What?” he muttered.</p><p>Jaskier plucked a dandelion from his head, got out of bed, and tucked the flower behind Geralt’s ear, startling him. “Food,” Jaskier muttered as he positioned the flower to stay. “Lots of food.”</p><p>“What are you doing?” Geralt demanded sharply, though he didn’t move away.</p><p>“Well, my friend, I discovered over the winter that plants do what I tell them to. If I tell this one to be a luck-charm to bring you abundant meals, then maybe it will be.” Jaskier let his fingertips run gently down Geralt’s cheek as his hands fell away from the flower, and he grinned as Geralt shivered slightly. “You need feeding up. Maybe this will help.”</p><p>Geralt hmm’d skeptically and put on his armor, careful not to dislodge the dandelion.</p><p>When they went downstairs, no one questioned the flower behind Geralt’s ear; in fact, no one seemed to notice. Marn gave them both filling breakfasts, and when they finished, she pressed a bag that smelled like pierogi into Geralt’s hands.</p><p>“You’re the one with the swords,” she said, “You need feeding so you can protect this little bird.”</p><p>“I can protect myself!” Jaskier gasped, a hand flying to his chest. “Two years I’ve been traveling all on my own—”</p><p>“Shut up, Jaskier,” Geralt grunted, standing suddenly. “You can barely hold a dagger right.”</p><p>“<em>Excuse</em> me?!”</p><p>Jaskier kept up a running patter of mock indignation as they readied to head out. His needling distracted Geralt from the way Marn’s daughter passed them a large bundle of trail-bread for a copper bit, and how when Jaskier stopped to talk to a man selling dried meat, one of Geralt’s coins bought a larger-than-average amount of jerky.</p><p>It was only when they were on their way that Geralt blinked, and said, “He gave you a fair price.”</p><p>“No,” Jaskier replied, overly-patient, “He gave <em>you</em> a fair price. But let’s not discuss it now. We’ll see how things go on the road.”</p><p>They passed a small apple orchard around noon. With a little nudging from Jaskier, Geralt approached the farmer harvesting apples and offered money for two apples. When the farmer said, “That’s enough for four,” and gave him four, Geralt muttered a baffled thank you and walked back to Roach, frowning. Jaskier waved cheerfully to the farmer, and snatched an apple for himself.</p><p>When they set up camp, Geralt was still frowning. Roach, crunching her apple, didn’t care.</p><p>“Gonna hunt,” Geralt grunted, grabbing his crossbow and quiver.</p><p>“Good luck,” Jaskier replied cheerfully as he started the fire.</p><p>Geralt returned not even twenty minutes later, carrying two rabbits and looking even more baffled.</p><p>“They were just <em>there</em>,” he told Jaskier, standing over him with the rabbits.</p><p>Jaskier smiled winsomely. “Are you hungry enough to eat a whole rabbit?” he asked.</p><p>“Yes,” Geralt replied, then frowned. “But…”</p><p>“Usually you’re not? Or usually you don’t let yourself be?”</p><p>Geralt’s mouth tightened, and he frowned into the fire for several long moments. Jaskier sighed, and said softly, “Go gut and skin those, Geralt. And make sure you eat as much of them as you can.”</p><p>The Witcher hesitated, then nodded and walked away, to find a place to gut the rabbits that wouldn’t draw anything hungry down to them. Jaskier shook his head and got out the bread.</p><p>Geralt did eat a whole rabbit. A rabbit and a half, when Jaskier noticed him staring at the bread looking miffed, and Jaskier decided he didn’t need the rest of his. And Geralt accepted it.</p><p>~</p><p>It went on like that. If Geralt looked for something edible, he found it, or something else that was just as good. When he tried to buy food, people gave him a fair amount, instead of lying and selling him less. Jaskier smirked smugly most of the time—but then he began to be worried.</p><p>Because along with all of this food, Geralt’s contracts were getting steadily more dangerous, in direct proportion to increased rewards.</p><p>Jaskier came along on a few, before he realized that his presence made most monsters fight even more fiercely, and try to put themselves between him and Geralt—as if they saw Geralt as a threat to Jaskier, not themselves. They were just monsters, just dumb animals, but it began to… upset Jaskier, when monsters tried to protect him and fell beneath Geralt’s sword. So he decided not to come, and instead pestered Geralt for details when he came back to wherever they were staying, be it an inn, a guard’s barracks, a mage’s home, or a barn. Geralt began to reply more easily. Jaskier stopped feeling upset, when he could distance himself from the creatures Geralt killed.</p><p>The dandelion behind Geralt’s ear never withered, fell out, or was crushed.</p><p>And they kept being fed. Even when they ran out of money entirely—which did happen a few times—Geralt managed to barter for meals. Slowly, he began to look less gaunt and stretched tight over his own muscles, and more like a healthy fighter.</p><p>~</p><p>Jaskier felt awful, stroking the baby fiend’s muzzle gently, keeping it still so Geralt could kill it. The creature was so trusting. Absolutely terrifying, and it had tried to kill Roach before noticing him, but now he was kneeling on the ground with its head in his lap, petting it, as Geralt lifted his sword, steadied himself, and brought it down in a solid chop, beheading the creature. Quick, clean, humane.</p><p>Jaskier still sniffled a little, his hands still resting on the dead head. Chrysanthemums grew and bloomed slowly around him and the dead fiend. “I know it was going to grow up and hurt people,” he said thickly. “I know it was a monster.”</p><p>“Monsters are just animals,” Geralt replied, quiet and tired. “Like having to kill wolves to protect sheep. It’s not true evil, only sentient beings are capable of that. But most of them are at the top of the food chain, above humans, and that’s why humans fear them.”</p><p>Jaskier sniffled again and nodded. He knew it was wrong to feel guilty like this. The fiend had trusted him, though. Had lain quietly in his lap and waited for the sword to strike. He couldn’t help feeling terrible, for… betraying something.</p><p>“If it helps, this way, it wasn’t frightened,” Geralt said softly.</p><p>“That does help a little,” Jaskier whispered, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve that didn’t have blood on it. “I… I don’t want to do it again, though. I don’t <em>care</em> if that makes me as bad as them, it trusted me to keep it safe—”</p><p>“Animals, Jaskier. They don’t have the same concept of “safe”. And they don’t understand mortality like humans.” Geralt crouched and gently pried Jaskier’s fingers off the fiend’s head’s fur, taking it from him. “I’ll put it with its mother. And we’ll move camp.”</p><p>The town was very glad the next morning that Geralt had killed the fiend and its spawn, and Jaskier slipped up to their room at the inn to peel off his soiled clothing, wipe himself down with some water from the jug and basin in the corner, and fall into the bed. He curled up under the blanket and just stared at the wall, trying to make his mind go blank. But he just kept thinking about how monsters actively tried to protect him, and followed him and his commands, and stayed still for him so Geralt could kill them. He kept thinking about how he felt so guilty, when they were all creatures who killed and ate humans and their livelihoods. He should feel no mercy. He should be glad. He should be <em>relieved</em> that he could help Geralt.</p><p>All he felt was shame and guilt and self-loathing.</p><p>Geralt entered the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. “They want you to play,” he said. “To celebrate.”</p><p>“I’m too tired,” Jaskier whispered.</p><p>Geralt grunted. “I’ll tell them.” A pause, and then he asked gruffly, “Do you need anything?”</p><p>“Yes. Three barrels of ale so I can be drunk as fuck long enough to get over myself,” Jaskier replied bitterly, without thinking.</p><p>A soft, heavy sigh. Jaskier blinked a little at the dip in the mattress when Geralt sat on the edge behind him.</p><p>“Jaskier… you’re not a bad person,” Geralt said, a little awkwardly. “You’re just… different. And that’s not bad.”</p><p>Jaskier was speechless, but also frightened to turn over, in case that made Geralt uncomfortable. He didn’t believe him, either.</p><p>“It’s not bad to be trusted by animals who don’t know any better. It’s not bad to hold them still for a humane death that they don’t even notice. And it’s not bad to feel guilty because they trust you. Killing is hard for most people. Watching things die is hard. You’re not a bad person.”</p><p>Jaskier blinked hard. His eyes were stinging for some reason. He still felt horrible. He <em>was</em> horrible. But Geralt had never lied to him; Geralt could hardly ever lie, it just wasn’t in his nature to. So maybe Geralt really did think he wasn’t bad.</p><p>He poked his arm out from under the blanket and reached behind himself without turning over. Geralt caught Jaskier’s hand in his own. They just held on to each other for a while, and Jaskier began to feel a little better. A little more grounded. Better enough to eventually sigh, and sit up, and say, “Alright. I’ll come play.”</p><p>Geralt nodded and moved away so he could get out of bed. They didn’t let go of each other until Jaskier was standing, and then Geralt squeezed his hand gently before dropping it. Jaskier felt so old all of a sudden, and yet so young. Old because he felt like he had had this dilemma before, so many lifetimes ago; and young because he couldn’t remember ever feeling this way with someone. Like he was safe. Like he was known. Like he was loved.</p><p>He almost said something, then. Almost told Geralt that he loved him.</p><p>But it wasn’t the right time. So he didn’t.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>comments pls I thrive on them</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hmmmmm don't like this one but whatever</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier found himself worming into more and more courts, as Geralt decided he needed to back out of following a Witcher, and honestly Jaskier didn’t mind. It made him feel warm, that Geralt didn’t want him hurt. It also hurt, because he hated being apart for so long. But every time he got itchy feet, or was run out of town for sleeping with the wrong person, somehow, magically, he unerringly found himself running to catch up with Geralt.</p>
<p>The first time he was cordially invited to the court of a royal, he felt extremely nervous—until he received a new suit in the latest fashion, tailored to fit him, and shiny new utterly impractical but very gorgeous boots, and permission to sing <em>one</em> song about Witchers. Only one. But one was enough.</p>
<p>He thoroughly enjoyed himself, mingling between songs and discussing hunting with lords and fashion with ladies, flirting absently with everyone, eating and drinking lightly. There was a bit of trouble where a drunken lord accused him of sleeping with the lord’s wife, but Jaskier smoothly convinced him it must have been a mistake; after all Jaskier had never been to the lord’s fief, not even anywhere near it, and how did he know it was infidelity? Also, was this really the right time and place to accuse another of being better in the bedchamber than he?</p>
<p>He clearly remembered the woman covering her face in shame. She had, indeed, told him he was better in bed than her husband. But he really hadn’t met them at their home; it had been at a hunting party, and Jaskier had gone through the ladies there like handkerchiefs. Which was not flattering. But it was true. A different noble—or maid—in his bed every night. He’d been trying to distract himself from yearning for Geralt.</p>
<p>Also, he had had the dubious pleasure of bedding this lord himself. Not a fun night, but at least he’d been paid.</p>
<p>The lord stomped away, muttering dubiously to himself, and apologized to his wife for insulting her in public. That was only good and right, and Jaskier was glad for that.</p>
<p>He was ordered by the king to remain at his place by the other minstrels. He obliged with a bow and spent the rest of the night singing and playing songs that he was utterly bored with, but that every noble he came across seemed to eat up with a spoon. Glory and the wrath of gods and the shiny lofty bits about victory in war. Never the dark, gritty details that made a story into a <em>story</em>. Just tinsel and dross over an insipid puddle of flavorless words. He was a performer, though, and that meant that his contempt did not show.</p>
<p>“Sing us a song about the Witcher!” one young lordling cried, and there were cheers of enthusiasm from almost everyone.</p>
<p>Jaskier felt himself straighten and grin. “Well, since it is my duty to entertain...” he drawled, flexed his fingers, and started his favorite ballad he’d written. It was a twist on how Geralt had gotten his name “the White Wolf”. Yes, yes, he’d come from the School of the Wolf, and the “white” part was because of his hair, but where was the grandeur in that? So Jaskier had made up a tale in which Geralt had taken a contract by a lying, scheming lord to get rid of an unknown beast stalking the forest, but had ended up battling a sorcerer who had three dire wolves at his beck and call. Geralt was the White Wolf because when the sorcerer stripped him of his weapons, Geralt defeated the wolves with his bare hands, and then dragged the sorcerer to justice. The lord was angered by this development, but the kind lady of the house pleaded for his mercy for the Witcher who had saved their fief, and the lord folded and gave Geralt a fair price.</p>
<p>The best part of this tale was the battle, in Jaskier’s opinion. He was a very good storyteller, but he especially loved writing grim details, getting right into the dark truths of violence and fighting. He saw more than one person shiver as his voice sank low and he described the reveal of the sorcerer and his wolves; he heard gasps as his voice soared with a growl, putting words to a scene where the Witcher battled for his very life; and there was thunderous applause when he returned to the castle victorious.</p>
<p>Jaskier even caught the king, who had been looking very bored this whole banquet, sitting up and applauding.</p>
<p>Jaskier bowed deeply to the hall as a whole, and grinned. He always loved singing that song. It was part singing, part acting, and part pure weaving of a story that captured the imagination. He was very proud of it.</p>
<p>“Another!” someone whooped. “Another about the White Wolf!”</p>
<p>Jaskier looked to the king and queen for permission. The queen nodded vigorously, smiling widely; the king glanced at her, then also nodded, and waved his hand for Jaskier to continue. So he did.</p>
<p>He actually sang four songs about Geralt, one of which was comedic, showing that Geralt had a softer, sillier side; it made people laugh, and feel like perhaps Witchers weren’t so heartless after all. He positively glowed at the smiles, and when he was asked to play a song for dancing, he did so happily, no longer bored. He’d gotten to sing about Geralt. How could he be resentful when he’d gotten to put in several dozen good words about him?</p>
<p>The banquet and dancing ended in the wee hours of the morn, and Jaskier was offered a place in the court for the winter. He wavered… but, really, what better place to gain exposure than an actual royal palace? So he accepted.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Geralt stopped into town that spring, the king heard about it, and then the White Wolf was invited to a party to meet the bard who sang of him so charmingly. Jaskier heard all of this, and became so excited he could barely contain himself. He chose his outfit for the night with great care—the fashionable color lately was red, but Jaskier knew Geralt liked blue better, so he chose a lovely dusty blue that made his flowers pop and matched his eyes.</p>
<p>When he got to the banquet hall, he went to stand with the other musicians, who had accepted him as one of their own easily, because he could write music that showed off all of their skills, and he practiced with them regularly, instead of acting high-and-mighty because he was an actual guest and they were resident musicians. He liked them, they were good people. And he genuinely enjoyed playing with them. He was going to be spoiled for future minstrel friends.</p>
<p>The order came, they played dinner music, and Jaskier looked around hopefully for Geralt, trying not to be obvious. Not in any of the shadowy corners he could see. Maybe he was just late?</p>
<p>Time passed. No Geralt. Jaskier began to worry.</p>
<p>The party moved to the ballroom, and the minstrels began to play dancing tunes. No Geralt.</p>
<p>Well, Geralt didn’t like dancing anyway. Of course he wouldn’t stay for this.</p>
<p>But Jaskier still felt disappointed, and a little upset. He did not show that, smiling and singing and playing and being the picture of a cheerful musician. He didn’t show how very depressed he was that Geralt didn’t want to see him after a whole winter apart.</p>
<p>It was just because it was a party. It was just that Geralt hated royal gatherings. It had nothing to do with wanting to avoid Jaskier.</p>
<p>But what if it did?</p>
<p>He wasn’t smiling when he reached his room, and he told himself this tiredness was from just another night of work. The lie was flimsy even in his head. He bit his lip, and opened his door.</p>
<p>“Took your fucking time.”</p>
<p>Jaskier barely remembered to close the door behind himself before launching across the room and tackling Geralt, making the Witcher grunt and stumble a little. “I thought you hadn’t come,” Jaskier said into Geralt’s shoulder, arms tight around him, relaxing against his Witcher’s chest. He… may have drunk a little more than usual. “I couldn’t find you at the feast.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Geralt put his arm around Jaskier and gave him a little squeeze.</p>
<p>“I’m packed. I can leave by noon tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Shouldn’t you give more notice than that?”</p>
<p>“Mm, I dunno. Where are you staying?”</p>
<p>“Golden Lion Inn. Right outside the Temple district.”</p>
<p>“Excellent.” Jaskier buried his nose in Geralt’s neck and breathed in deeply, getting that familiar scent of herbs, sweat, blood, and <em>Geralt</em> deep in his lungs before exhaling slowly. Gods, was love always like this? “Tomorrow afternoon, then. I won’t even have to lie, I’ve done enough storytelling, they know I like to travel.”</p>
<p>“What about your reputation?” Geralt rumbled, and oh Jaskier’s knees were weak at that faint touch of concern.</p>
<p>“They’ll label me as eccentric and I’ll lose some shine, but ultimately, if I play my cards right, it will be a draw.” He grinned slyly, and was thankful that Geralt couldn’t see. “I may even earn enough to replace that tatty armor of yours,” he said sweetly.</p>
<p>“You’re drunk,” Geralt grunted, and let go of him. “Go to bed, Jaskier.”</p>
<p>Jaskier pouted a little but let go and stepped back. “Afternoon?” he asked, just to confirm.</p>
<p>Geralt nodded, not looking at him. And then, before Jaskier could say or do anything else, Geralt reached out, picked a buttercup from Jaskier’s circlet, and left quickly.</p>
<p>Jaskier grinned giddily after him for a long moment, then scrambled into his nightshirt and bed. The faster he went to sleep, the earlier he could wake, and the sooner he could leave.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The princess actually cried, and the princes were upset too, but the queen sighed heavily and had the treasurer give Jaskier fifty gold coins, and told Jaskier that he was welcome to take any of the things he had been provided by the royal house. He thanked her sincerely and bowed.</p>
<p>The harpist cornered him on his way to his room to pack up. “Why are you leaving?” she asked, dismayed.</p>
<p>He shrugged. “It’s spring and I like to travel. I’ll come back sometime, though.” He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Thank you for your hospitality and friendship.”</p>
<p>It was hard to leave in a timely manner, since so many people kept stopping him and begging him to stay. He had to repeat, over and over, that he was a traveler, not a pet, and while he had deeply enjoyed this wonderful place, he really did need to leave. It was very odd. Why were so many people suddenly realizing his worth?</p>
<p>He got to the inn exactly at noon, and grinned to see Geralt sitting on some crates just outside the stable, petting Roach, who was eating something from his hand. He didn’t even greet them, but they both raised their heads. Roach whinnied and danced in place a little, and Geralt stood, looking inscrutable.</p>
<p>“Roach, darling!” Jaskier threw his arms around Roach’s neck and laughed as she tried to eat his flowers. “It has been far too long!”</p>
<p>“Can we go now?” Geralt growled.</p>
<p>“Yes, yes, of course.” Jaskier tied his bag to Geralt’s own saddlebags and followed them out, humming to himself.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The year seemed to melt away. Jaskier kept luring and taming monsters, with and without Geralt; and he got better at killing them, if he could. He stayed in inns and courts, but never for long. He was meant to travel. He was meant to go out and spread this power that urged grass and flowers to grow where he slept, the power that left a trail of blue-eyed bastards in his wake, the power that clung to the dandelion and buttercup behind Geralt’s ear that drew abundance to him in the form of food and rewards and companionship.</p>
<p>Jaskier tried not to be jealous when he spent the evening playing for a crowd, and Geralt spent it at a brothel.</p>
<p>But Jaskier was still in love, and that didn’t fade at all. In fact, it grew stronger. He hated that. He hated that he wanted to spend hours cuddled up somewhere safe with Geralt, learning about him—not just his fights, but his favorite foods, and why he kept his hair long, and what his fellow Witchers were like, and if he missed them while traveling. Jaskier hated that he wanted to kiss Geralt for good luck before every fight, and kiss him in relief when he came back triumphant. Jaskier hated that every time he did something nice for Geralt—bought him armor, lavished him in softly scented hot baths, ordered bigger meals when Geralt had been skimping on food—Geralt would just nod, or mutter a gruff thanks, and Jaskier’s heart would try to beat out of his ribcage.</p>
<p>Jaskier hated that he wanted Geralt to love him back.</p>
<p>Autumn came too soon. Geralt said goodbye. Jaskier said good luck. They parted at a little village just a day’s travel away from a ducal house, Geralt to his path home, Jaskier to stay the night and then walk to the court and ask for shelter in exchange for music. It shouldn’t have hurt to watch Geralt and Roach walk away, and not allow himself to follow. It really shouldn’t have.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Jaskier was extremely drunk when his sisters found him.</p>
<p>He was sitting in the dirt behind the inn, staring hazily at the stars, thinking about Geralt, when five beautiful women surrounded him.</p>
<p>Fear filled him in an instant, and he scrambled to his feet, but then Love and Friendship grabbed his arms and held him still. He looked at his sisters and wondered if they were here to try and kill him again.</p>
<p>“Thank Mother we found you,” Lust hissed, “You travel too fast, even in a vessel.”</p>
<p>“Why are you here?” Jaskier demanded, shaking so hard he was surprised he could still stand. “Are you going to kill me again?”</p>
<p>“What? No!” Protector of Children protested. “We came to warn you.”</p>
<p>“War is on the move,” Protector of Parents said urgently. “He’s settled in the hearts of Nilfgaard, and now they’re readying themselves for attack. We’re trying to slow him down, but he’s too strong; he’ll be ready in twenty years. And <em>you</em> need to be ready, in case he manages to destroy the land and the people.”</p>
<p>“Me? But I’m not—”</p>
<p>Love put her hand on his cheek and turned his head to look deeply into his eyes. “You need to be ready, Fertility,” she said softly. “You need to hold that Witcher of yours tightly; Destiny has plans for him, and he’ll need you. Remember, you are not just sex. You are nurture and nourish and grow.”</p>
<p>Fertility blinked, and realized he was crying. The tears that fell from his chin to the ground sparked, and flowers bloomed at his feet: dandelions, buttercups, and poppies.</p>
<p>“This body will be too old to help him,” Fertility told his sisters. “It’s aging slowly, but it’s still human.”</p>
<p>“Then we’ll bless you,” Friendship replied firmly. “An immortal body, that will only ever die by your own hand.”</p>
<p>Fertility opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t think of what, so he closed it again. His sisters gathered closer, pressing their palms to his chest.</p>
<p>“<b>It is done,</b>” all five of them said, and pain like a bolt of lightning seared through his fragile human flesh.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Jaskier woke up in bed, with a healer leaning over him. He blinked hazily, and mumbled, “What the fuck?”</p>
<p>“I’ve never seen this before,” the healer said, looking up to talk to someone else. “It’s magic, alright, but not the kind that <em>I</em> know.”</p>
<p>“Well, he’s awake now,” grumbled the innkeeper. “That’ll have to be good enough.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Jaskier spent the rest of autumn at the duke’s, and then moved on at the first snow.</p>
<p>He spent the winter in an abandoned farmstead, because he could not stand to be around people anymore. He grew potatoes and turnips and beets and carrots, left to rot, in buckets of dirt, watered them with melted snow, and ate them roasted in a pan with tiny pinches of that most precious of commodities, the salt block hidden in a cupboard. He built up his arm and motion until he could dent heavy wood with the stones and bits of brick in the barn, and then spent a lot of time hunting any and all small creatures that he could gut, skin, and eat. Meat joined his diet of root vegetables just in time.</p>
<p>He washed himself with water from the pump, brought inside and heated from “frostbite” to “bearable” in front of his tiny fire. He washed his clothes, too; he’d taken off his silks the day he’d come here, and now dressed in the rough wool clothes he found in a cedar chest at the foot of the bed. Everything still got unbearably filthy, even with a weekly scrubbing of his body, his clothes, and the floor. There was soap, but barely enough.</p>
<p>By the time the last true snow melted, he was definitely ready to leave, and he had come to terms with himself, and who he was, and <em>what</em> he was, and what his sisters had told him.</p>
<p>War was in Nilfgaard and pushing slowly for blood. Geralt would be caught up in it, somehow. Destiny, youngest of the first children but arguably the most powerful, had chosen Geralt for her games. And Geralt would need help. The help of a god.</p>
<p>Jaskier didn’t know what, exactly, he could do against War. But he could start with gathering information. How lucky, that bards are welcome in so many places… and that War didn’t know where his brother Fertility was.</p>
<p>Jaskier, standing at the window of the small house he had claimed for the winter, began to smile slowly out at the dark, wet night. It was the smile of a predator smelling blood on the air.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>comments are biofuel and I am a 2000's era concept car</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier was rather surprised to run into another Witcher on the road three years after his memories returned. It wasn’t Lambert, thank Mother, but the man was certainly a match for him in the “foreboding countenance” category. Those scars looked absolutely terrifying.</p><p>And then he saw Jaskier’s pendant, and smiled, and though it was a bit scary, it was such an impish grin that Jaskier found himself relaxing.</p><p>“So <em>you’re</em> Geralt’s little bird,” the Witcher said.</p><p>“Ah,” Jaskier said, beginning to blush. “Yes?”</p><p>The Witcher nodded and said, “I’m Eskel. Do you mind if I walk with you?”</p><p>“Not at all,” Jaskier replied, surprised. “I’d be honored.”</p><p>They walked in silence for a while. It was a comfortable silence, like with Geralt, only without Jaskier’s crush humming in his chest. But Jaskier was never good at silence.</p><p>“How did you know who I was?” he asked suddenly, trying to forget the words <em>Geralt’s little bird</em>.</p><p>“The pendant,” Eskel replied easily. “The rest of us thought it was a mistake, but… there’s stories, now. About the half-Witcher with blue eyes. And Geralt told us about you.”</p><p>“He did?” Jaskier asked, surprised and not sure why.</p><p>Eskel looked like he was trying not to smile as he shot Jaskier an amused glance. “Yes. He seems… fond of you.”</p><p>Fond? <em>Fond?</em> Jaskier was absolutely speechless for a minute, then quickly changed the subject. “Why do you think those stories are about me?”</p><p>“Because several mention yellow flowers and a lute.”</p><p>“Ah. Hm. Alright, fair enough.” Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck, and cringed as he felt his flowers rustle. “Ah, fuck, not again.”</p><p>Eskel frowned a little, but then his eyes snapped to the hills, and he froze. His horse drew up sharply, too, snorting. Jaskier told Eskel, “I’m sorry,” and then they heard the snap and swoosh of large wings, and a creature appeared in the air above them.</p><p>The horse shied, and Eskel drew his sword, and Jaskier stepped forward as the young wyvern landed on the road in front of them and hissed.</p><p>“Yes, yes, hello,” Jaskier sighed, flinching as the wyvern sniffed him all over, breathing the fetid stench of rotting meat in his face. “You are certainly too big for me. Will you do me a favor and just… hold still?”</p><p>“What the fuck,” Eskel said flatly behind him.</p><p>“It won’t hurt you as long as you don’t get too close to me,” Jaskier replied over his shoulder. “I can make it move, so you and your horse can get to the town. But… well, you know wyverns better than I. They’re a bit tetchy when I’m involved.” He scratched the creature’s chin and it growl-hummed, shuffling closer to him.</p><p>“What the fuck,” Eskel repeated, then, for a change, “Are you sure it won’t eat you?”</p><p>The wyvern hissed at Eskel and proceeded to wrap itself around Jaskier, shrouding him with its wings. “I’m very sure,” Jaskier answered tiredly. “They think I’m one of them.”</p><p>“That’s courting behavior.”</p><p>Jaskier’s face burned with embarrassment as the wyvern nuzzled him. “I know.”</p><p>Silence, except for the wyvern’s growls and the horse’s snorts. Then Eskel asked, “Can you make it move off the road?”</p><p>“Yes.” Jaskier patted the wyvern’s neck and edged towards the side of the road, towards the rocky hills where it had been nesting. It uncurled and let him lead it away, behind a hill so the sight of it wouldn’t scare anyone. Then he sat, and the creature curled around him again.</p><p>It had been a long day. Jaskier watched tiredly as rock-roses and thistles grew from the ground around him. The wyvern kept sneaking its head closer to him. He knew this was mating behavior, because he’d seen it before; wyverns tested trust with each other by getting close. It was just bad luck that all of them thought Jaskier was trustworthy at first sight. And he felt horrible for it, but he straightened his legs and let the wyvern put its head in his lap. He’d have to make sure and do something to get his scent on Eskel, so the wyvern didn’t attack as if it was protecting its mate. Good thing wyverns had multiple mates, despite being solitary animals.</p><p>Animals. They were just animals. Jaskier scrubbed away the beginnings of tears. They were animals who threatened the livelihoods of humans, and thus must be driven back. But if humans stopped pushing so incessantly into wild territory where most monsters were perfectly happy to stay and keep away, maybe there wouldn’t be such terrible clashes.</p><p>Jaskier sometimes hated humans—no, not humans. Their gifts. The gifts he, himself, gave them at their beginning. Their ability to fuck and reproduce at alarming rates. He hated himself for giving all creatures his love so fully, when it only led to blood and fear. As long as there was space, humans would move to fill it.</p><p>What would happen when they drove out the monsters? When they claimed the entire continent? Would they kill off all the other predators, too? Or would someone realize that that was the wrong way to go about it?</p><p>Jaskier knew it wasn’t productive to hate the way humans were made. And it wasn’t productive to hate himself for gifting them in the first place. And he knew that there were humans trying to figure out how to lessen impact while not controlling population.</p><p>Monsters were predators for humans. The thought sent a cold chill up his spine. Monsters had been made on the same day as humans, because <em>they</em> were meant to be population control. And humans had turned around and started hunting them.</p><p>He couldn’t blame humans. It was scary to be hunted by things you knew could easily destroy your village and kill everyone you loved. And fear and protectiveness makes things lash out. It was good to have systems in place to protect yourself and those around you, and your animals and your crops and your business. It was good to be ready. But he still couldn’t bring himself to condone the people who wanted to eradicate monsters for the sake of doing so.</p><p>So. He could not hate or blame the humans. It was survival. But looking at the wyvern in his lap, dozing in the warm sun, so trusting, and knowing he would have to betray that trust to protect humans who would, if they knew what he was, try to kill or contain him as well… his stomach roiled. Gods weren’t what humans would call monsters, but really, was that not what they were? Disconnected from humanity, using their lives like game tokens, only caring about one or two out of millions. Jaskier was no exception. Look at his earlier thoughts. He knew dimly that usually he loved humans just as much as he loved being alive and free, but right now, he didn’t. Right now, he felt indescribable guilt for loving anything at all, because there just wasn’t an easy answer. Nothing was black and white. Why couldn’t he be like his siblings? Why couldn’t he be completely detached?</p><p>His parents, calling him a miracle, because they loved him so much.</p><p>Children begging him to make flower-crowns with them, laughing at his silly songs.</p><p>Villagers greeting him with relief and tears, offering him beds and food and baths and new clothes, because he had helped them.</p><p>Hurt women asking him to stay because he made them feel good and appreciated and cherished.</p><p>Geralt.</p><p>Jaskier blinked hard, as tears dripped from his jaw to land on the wyvern’s head. No. He could not make himself detach. However much he may dislike humanity as a whole, individual humans were precious and worth something. Even the ones he’d never met, even the ones he didn’t like, individual humans were not the problem.</p><p>He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He should stop thinking about this.</p><p>The faintest scrape of leather on stone made him look up. Eskel was crouched beside a boulder, staring. Jaskier shifted the wyvern’s head—the creature was fast asleep—and stood, to walk quietly over to Eskel.</p><p>“You need my scent so it won’t be as angry,” he said quietly.</p><p>Eskel blinked. “How the hell do I do that?” he whispered back.</p><p>Jaskier thought for a moment. Then he took off his doublet and ruffled Eskel’s hair with it vigorously, making Eskel grunt in protest. “It works with Geralt,” Jaskier explained, and put on the doublet again. “He hates it too.”</p><p>Eskel sneezed.</p><p>The wyvern immediately woke and raised its head, growling a little as it saw Eskel.</p><p>“It’s alright,” Jaskier told it, ignoring the pain in his stomach. “He’s… he’s with me. It’s alright.”</p><p>Eskel stood very slowly, and drew his sword. The wyvern got to its feet, still growling. Jaskier couldn’t look away, trying to keep it calm. “It’s alright,” he repeated, voice cracking.</p><p>Eskel approached the wyvern slowly, and froze when it sniffed, nostrils flared as it caught Jaskier’s scent on him. As Jaskier had hoped, it didn’t immediately attack. Instead, it reared back, hissing, as it would if trying to intimidate another wyvern.</p><p>“It’s alright,” Jaskier said again, more to himself than the wyvern. Tears were building in his eyes again. Did he have to watch? Yes. He couldn’t turn his back now.</p><p>“Jaskier,” Eskel said calmly, “Please hide. It’s not going to be calm when we fight.”</p><p>Jaskier hesitated, then walked to the boulder Eskel had been crouched by, and hid behind it. “It’s alright,” he whispered to himself. The sounds of battle broke out behind him, and he gave a tiny sob. “It’s alright. It’s alright. It’s alright.”</p><p>The battle was short and violent. Jaskier felt like he should look. He felt like he should see what he’d done. But at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to. He just… couldn’t.</p><p>Eskel trudged up beside him, lugging the wyvern’s head. He was drenched in blood. Jaskier couldn’t bear to look at the head, so he looked at Eskel’s face. He looked tired.</p><p>“Ready to go?” he asked.</p><p>Jaskier nodded and stood, and silently followed Eskel down the hill.</p><p>They were greeted with thanks, and the village actually gave Eskel a proper reward. They tried to pay Jaskier, but he shook his head and managed a small smile and said, “No, thank you. He did all the work.”</p><p>“You kept it calm,” Eskel pointed out, in front of the headman, the priest, the blacksmith, and the militia leader. Jaskier shot him a dirty look.</p><p>“That hardly counts,” he muttered, uncomfortable with the awe turned on him. He didn’t deserve it. That awe should be reserved for actual Witchers.</p><p>Eskel shook his head, thanked the villagers, clapped Jaskier on the shoulder, and walked away. Jaskier rubbed his neck and wondered tiredly how he was going to get the information he carried back to Cintra when he kept being interrupted by people who wanted to tell him he was a good person.</p><p>Eventually he managed to just wrangle some traveling-food and set out again, waving goodbye to the people who had heard Eskel saying that he’d assisted in the slaying of the wyvern. As soon as he was out of sight, he drooped, rubbing his forehead, and allowed himself to cry.</p><p>He didn’t meet any Witchers until he was in Cintra. He was just a day or two away from the capital when his flowers stirred, and his heart leapt, and he recognized the horse and rider ahead of him on the road.</p><p>“GERALT!” Jaskier yelled, leaping into a run. “Wait up!”</p><p>Geralt drew Roach up sharply and they turned, Geralt’s expression startled, then becoming pleased, before he shuttered it with annoyance.</p><p>Jaskier laughed at such an utter lie, and somehow managed to slow to a walk before coming up beside them and patting Geralt’s thigh heartily and giving Roach a smooch and a flower. “Fancy meeting you here!” Jaskier exclaimed, grinning up at Geralt. He realized dimly that his hand was still on Geralt’s thigh, but decided to leave it. “The next inn has some lovely ale, how about a pint on me?”</p><p>Geralt hummed. “I don’t want ale,” he said. “There’s a selkiemore at the lake that needs killing.”</p><p>“Sounds like an adventure! May I tag along?”</p><p>“Absolutely not,” Geralt snapped, and Jaskier laughed again, giddy in his company. Not even the nasty wriggling thought that Geralt would hate him for being a god could squash the affection in his chest.</p><p>“Alright, alright.” He squeezed Geralt’s thigh gently and let his hand drop. “I am going to pester you for details, though.”</p><p>“Hmph.”</p><p>They walked along together, Jaskier chattering away happily, all the gossip he knew Geralt would be interested in (Geralt may claim to hate talking about human troubles, but he was just as much of a blackmailer as Jaskier) as well as telling him about nests of trouble that might have ripple effects that would affect Geralt. Jaskier did not tell him about how Jaskier had joined a certain spy ring that operated independently of any country, and he was on his fifteenth mission. He was taking word of the movements of Cintra’s neighbors to the court of the Lioness, Queen Calanthe. Not that he’d ever meet with the queen herself; his orders were to hand over his reports to a contact within the palace, then slip away and move on.</p><p>But for now, he did not think about that, simply talked about travel and life and Geralt’s battles. He expressed admiration when Geralt muttered about what he’d hunted so far that year, and outrage when the topic of being cheated came up. He made up a new stanza for Toss A Coin on the spot, about fucking paying the people killing the monsters who were eating everyone and how cheating them of coin should be a death sentence.</p><p>“Don’t be so harsh,” Geralt grunted, the tiniest pleased smile on his face.</p><p>“It should be, though!” Jaskier retorted, trying to be angry so he wouldn’t be giddy. “What would humanity do without Witchers? We’d all die out! You are necessary, you are <em>heroes</em>!”</p><p>The pleased smile vanished into a thin line and Geralt frowned. Jaskier’s stomach sank. What now? What had he done now? He should try to make this better.</p><p>“And don’t frown like that, it’s true! Witchers are important. Just because there’s too many short-sighted idiots in the world—”</p><p>“Shut up, Jaskier.”</p><p>There was a world of frustration and old hurt in those three words. Jaskier shut up, and tried to catch a glimpse of emotion on Geralt’s face, but the stony frown was impenetrable. He was truly upset. And he didn’t want Jaskier to know why.</p><p>It hurt. But it was to be expected.</p><p>Jaskier said, “I’m sorry,” and then turned his eyes back to the road.</p><p>About an hour later, as they approached a village with a tall log palisade, Geralt said softly, “Don’t be.”</p><p>“Don’t be what?” Jaskier asked, startled to be shaken out of his mutterings about road conditions and how he was going to have words with whoever was in charge of roadwork in this piece of fucking nowhere.</p><p>“Don’t be sorry.”</p><p>And Geralt didn’t say anything else.</p><p>This was the village where Jaskier insisted on paying for all the nice things Geralt never let himself have, as well as the practical things; Jaskier had been hoarding coin carefully, and had plenty to spend on his friend. So Roach was set up with the best care and feed at the inn, a room with two beds was chosen, and Geralt’s clothes were lumped with Jaskier’s and sent to a laundress.</p><p>Geralt just grunted and said he’d be back by nightfall and stomped off to the village on the lake shore. Jaskier shook his head and charmed the whole tavern.</p><p>While he was swigging the poison that this tavern called ale and scribbling ideas for songs, an unassuming-looking man slid into the seat across from him in the corner (Geralt had rubbed off on Jaskier) and said quietly, “The larks are rather loud this time of year.”</p><p>Jaskier smiled, and carefully set down his quill. “Someone should tell them to go to sleep,” he replied softly. He hated these code-words, they were so unpoetic, but he wasn’t going to complain now.</p><p>“Do you have the letter?” the man asked.</p><p>Jaskier cocked his head and eyed the man carefully. He was familiar—yes, Jaskier had seen him before, on his last visit to the Cintran intelligence offices. So Jaskier nodded and took the letter out from between two sheets in his notebook, sliding it over easily. The man nodded, picked it up, and tucked it in his vest. Then the man pulled a small envelope out of his bag and slid it to Jaskier. “From himself,” he said, gave Jaskier a brief smile, and walked out of the tavern. Interestingly, no one seemed to even see him.</p><p>Jaskier gathered his things, drained his mug, and took the envelope upstairs.</p><p>It had a special locking spell on the sealing wax; Jaskier pressed the pad of his right pointer finger against it, and the spell flared, unlocking the contents. Jaskier opened it, to find a second envelope with no less than five seals and six ribbons on it, and a sheet of fine paper covered in a rather spidery hand.</p><p>
  <em>We have gained you an invitation. You are to present yourself at the court as the banquet entertainment. Afterwards, report to us. Payment will be delivered to the Seekers through the normal channels. Here is the list of attendees:</em>
</p><p>There was a long list of names written in code; Jaskier deciphered it easily, and winced. Oh dear. He’d met with half these lords—or the women in their lives—at least once. They had all given him exactly the right information he’d needed to move to his next target, though they hadn’t known that. They had simply thought him charming. But… this was going to be tough.</p><p>An idea came to him then, and he grinned. “Oh, Jaskier, you sly dog,” he muttered. Alright, yes, he’d been desperate for an excuse to stay with Geralt for a little while longer. Asking him to come as a bodyguard would be perfect. Although… Geralt really disliked fuss and feathers and banquets. He might refuse.</p><p>But was Jaskier not his very best friend? Of course he could get Geralt to come, by blackmail if nothing else. And he really would be useful. Jaskier knew that without any evidence, but also no doubt. Geralt would be useful, and the banquet would not be boring.</p><p>~</p><p>It was a few hours before nightfall when a man stumbled into the tavern, wild-eyed and sweating hard, and blurted, “I saw it! I saw it all!”</p><p>Jaskier perked up, and slid from his seat in the corner to a table in the middle of the tavern, bringing his writing things with him. “Saw what?” he asked, with a touch of concern.</p><p>The man needed little encouragement. He stood beside Jaskier and told his tale, while Jaskier scribbled down the details gleefully.</p><p>“Oh, this is brilliant,” he said aloud at one point, and when he noticed the pause, he looked up at the man and said, “Sorry, it’s just that Geralt’s usually so stingy with the details. What happened then?”</p><p>“He died,” the man said in portentous tones.</p><p>Jaskier thought about that, then shrugged. “Eh. He’s fine.”</p><p>“I saw—!”</p><p>The door slammed open again, and Jaskier perked up at the familiar figure. But he couldn’t help laughing, too; Geralt looked hilarious, like one of those fluffy dogs after swimming through a mud puddle, all matted down and filthy. Unlike a mud puddle, though, the muck all over him smelled overwhelmingly of rotting fish and blood, and he was very annoyed instead of unrepentant and ready to wipe himself on the furniture. Jaskier jumped to his feet after Geralt explained, and started the song; “Toss a coin to your Witcher, O valley of plenty, O valley of plenty!”</p><p>After that, all that was needed was to convince Geralt to come to the banquet with him.</p><p>~</p><p>Geralt had sprained both shoulders trying to maneuver in the tight confines of the selkimore’s throat and belly. Well, that was what he said, and he did wince when he tried to reach behind himself. Instead of watch him try to power through, Jaskier said, “Look, I’ve got two working arms and two hands, let me do it. Or do you want to be in pain all night?”</p><p>Geralt glared, but nodded reluctantly. So Jaskier grabbed up the chamomile lotion and… oh. <em>Oh</em>. It was one thing to <em>see</em> those scars and muscles, it was another matter entirely to be allowed to touch them. After rinsing most of the muck off Geralt (outside, so the bathing room wasn’t defiled), his skin was still damp; Jaskier’s heart was beating very fast as he gently massaged the lotion into Geralt’s shoulders. Mother above, he shouldn’t be this breathless just because he was allowed to touch Geralt.</p><p>But he was also feeling bold, and reckless, and when the lotion was worked in and Geralt’s shoulders were limp as melting wax, Jaskier asked, “Any other hurts that need tending?”</p><p>“No.” Geralt stood, and Jaskier, staring at his backside with no shame, noticed the subtle difference in how he held the muscles in the back of his left thigh.</p><p>“Liar.” Jaskier stood and reached out to pat Geralt’s arm. “Something happened to your leg. What is it?”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“Well, fine, sit in your tepid bath with pain in your leg, see if I care.”</p><p>“I pulled a muscle.”</p><p>Jaskier blinked, but Geralt wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at the floor and his head was turned slightly away. “Trying to kick in a confined space,” he grunted. “Pulled a muscle.”</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>Geralt didn’t speak. After a moment, he pointed to the side of his thigh.</p><p>“Oh! That’s not so bad!” Jaskier replied cheerfully. “Shall I do that too?”</p><p>Geralt still wouldn’t look at him. But he muttered gruffly, “Fine.”</p><p>Which was how Jaskier ended up massaging the back of Geralt’s leg. He sensed there was tension further up—the tension of pain, not just the tension of fear—and said, “You know I won’t hurt you, and I promise I won’t take advantage, but I can tell you’re still hurt.”</p><p>“Fine,” Geralt muttered after a beat of silence.</p><p>So Jaskier scooped a little more lotion out and used just the tips of his fingers and the heel of his palm, trying not to make Geralt even more uncomfortable. He really wanted to splay his hands on either side of that ass and squeeze, but no, that would be too far. He stuck with what he had promised, and no further.</p><p>Eventually the tension was gone, the lotion was worked in, and Jaskier said brightly, “Alright, <em>now</em> you can have your bath!”</p><p>~</p><p>Jaskier still thought it a miracle that Geralt had agreed to the clothes Jaskier had found. The shirt was one of his own, because those were roughly the same size; but the suit had been harder to source last-minute, so the jacket was a little small. He grumbled about it constantly, but at least he didn’t refuse them outright. At least he wouldn’t stand out as much, in the all-black uniform of Witchers. Hopefully.</p><p>Jaskier only realized this was a bad idea when he remembered that he had to report to the intelligence officers—who would not welcome a Witcher lurking around. But… well, he could probably slip away and tell Geralt he’d just had a little fun with a beautiful woman. Nothing to be concerned about, dear Geralt. Just a little fun, nothing suspicious.</p><p>This notion evaporated when the guards at the door got nasty and Geralt pressed his lips together but promised to only stay by Jaskier and not go “snooping”. Which meant Jaskier couldn’t slip away because they’d both be in trouble, but if they were caught anywhere <em>near</em> the intelligence halls they would be killed.</p><p>Buggering fuck.</p><p>But Jaskier plastered on a smile and kept close and answered Geralt’s snipes with whispered teasing of his own, until a man recognized Geralt, and greeted him with pleasure. “Geralt of Rivia! I haven’t seen you since the plague! Why are you dressed like that?”</p><p>Jaskier straightened, outraged—he’d done just fine with the time and materials at hand!—then realized that Geralt was actually relaxing as he spoke to this man. So he said nothing as the man pulled Geralt away, though it hurt a little.</p><p>But then Geralt turned and grabbed Jaskier’s wrist, pulling him along, and saying to the man, “The guards made me promise to stick with this idiot. Jaskier, this is Mousesack. Mousesack, Jaskier.”</p><p>Jaskier smiled brightly and bowed, and tried to ignore Mousesack’s surprised and calculating stare. “Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Jaskier said. Geralt hadn’t let go of him. Like fuck was he going to say anything about that.</p><p>“The pleasure is mine,” Mousesack replied, then looked down and raised his eyebrow. Geralt immediately let go, and Jaskier’s hand dropped to his side again. “So. What brings you here?”</p><p>Geralt looked at Jaskier and raised his own eyebrow with a dry expression. Jaskier could not stick his tongue out at Geralt, but he did wrinkle his nose, before turning another smile on Mousesack and explaining, “I received an invitation to entertain, and since trouble is inevitable at these kinds of gatherings, I asked Geralt to come, too.”</p><p>“You blackmailed me,” Geralt said bitterly.</p><p>“Roach deserves rest and pampering and you know it,” Jaskier shot back snootily.</p><p>Mousesack looked… actually a little delighted. Perhaps because Jaskier also enjoyed Geralt’s company. He was certainly smiling a little as he looked between Geralt and Jaskier. Was he noting how close they stood? “May I ask, who invited you?” Mousesack asked, curious, not challenging.</p><p>“The invitation said it was from the Seneschal,” Jaskier replied, “And since I was on the list, I suppose it must have been her.” The invitation had indeed said that, but Jaskier had doubts, seeing as how it had been the intelligence office who were expecting him, not any member of the staff.</p><p>“Lettenhove!”</p><p>Jaskier froze.</p><p>A man swaggered over, already drunk. Jaskier recognized him; one of his fellow students at Oxenfurt, one who had only attended because his parents insisted. Fennton. Jaskier gave a very stiff and neutral smile.</p><p>“Lord Fennton, how wonderful to see you,” Jaskier said in a lukewarm tone. He could feel Geralt tensing beside him. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”</p><p>“Ah, my brother has come to put forth his suit, so I tagged along,” Fennton replied, his pale face flushed and his smile just a little sloppy. His clothes were too tight, and puce did not look good on him. “Are you here for a chance? You probably have better odds.”</p><p>“No, I’m here to perform,” Jaskier replied, his flowers ruffling in agitation. Fennton had been one of those ingratiating bastards who kissed ass to everyone of higher station, even Jaskier. And it had been infuriating. Jaskier did <em>not</em> want Fennton to try kissing his ass again, not here. “I highly doubt I would even be considered.”</p><p>Fennton laughed, very loudly, drawing curious eyes. Jaskier gritted his teeth. “Ah, you do yourself too little credit, Lettenhove! Your family’s moved up in the peerage, you know. No reason why you <em>shouldn’t</em> be considered.”</p><p>“Nevertheless, I am not interested,” Jaskier replied flatly.</p><p>Fennton laughed again and took a swig from his mug. “Suit yourself, m’lord.” And then he ambled off to bother someone else.</p><p>Jaskier realized his fists were clenched, and did his best to relax. It was hard. It wasn’t that he didn’t miss his family, it was that he was severely opposed to his rank being pulled.</p><p>“My <em>lord</em>?” Geralt asked lowly. Jaskier looked at him, and tried to smile.</p><p>“A minor house,” he replied. “Fennton is under the impression that my family is important.”</p><p>Geralt was still frowning. Jaskier realized with a sinking feeling that he really was going to have to explain. But later.</p><p>Mousesack cleared his throat delicately, recalling their attentions. Jaskier was glad to have a distraction. “So. Why flowers?” Mousesack asked.</p><p>Jaskier shrugged, blushing a little. “A run-in with a crotchety sorceress,” he said, instead of the truth. “She decided a small curse was in order. They’re not that bad, though, so I have no idea what she expected to gain.”</p><p>Mousesack glanced at the flowers behind Geralt’s ear. Jaskier had half-heartedly told Geralt he could put them away, but Geralt had ignored him. So they perched there easily, bright against silver-white hair. And there was no way to ignore how they were the exact same flowers as the ones on Jaskier’s head.</p><p>“Good luck charms,” Geralt grunted.</p><p>“I see,” Mousesack said, and began to smile slyly. “How did you two meet, by the way?”</p><p>Jaskier brightened immediately, eager to tell this tale. “Well! You see, I’d just left Oxenfurt and was looking for greatness—silly, yes, but I was barely an adult, to be fair—and I ended up in Posada, which, by the way, <em>horrid</em> little place, <em>no</em> appreciation for great music—”</p><p>“It wasn’t great, it was inaccurate,” Geralt interrupted.</p><p>“Hush,” Jaskier retorted, “You just don’t understand poetic license. <em>Anyway</em>, so I didn’t know he was a Witcher at first, but I knew he was a traveler so I thought perhaps he could give me inspiration for a song, but then I recognized him and he let me come with him to go after a demon that had been plaguing Posada—”</p><p>“That’s not what happened,” Geralt sighed.</p><p>“It is too,” Jaskier replied. “He punched me on the way, but that was about the only bit of discouragement he offered—”</p><p>“I didn’t—“</p><p>“Oh, what, it was just a little tap? I almost vomited! Now stop interrupting or I’ll never get to the whole being captured part!”</p><p>Jaskier spun a fine tale, sticking close to the song, and realized that other people were listening, too. Geralt kept interrupting him, but never told him to actually shut up; he just tried to “correct” minor details. He had the perfect expression on his face, as well; exasperated, affronted at times, and so very tired of Jaskier’s shit. Mousesack was openly grinning, and Jaskier took heart from that.</p><p>“And our fine friend here decided having a bard to sing his praises was worth a little annoyance!” Jaskier finished cheerfully.</p><p>“I seem to recall you <em>tying yourself to my horse</em> when I told you to leave me alone, and then making the knot too tight, so you couldn’t undo it,” Geralt retorted snidely.</p><p>“And then she bit me and I was duly punished,” Jaskier agreed serenely.</p><p>Mousesack actually laughed. “Alright, I’m going to need more stories from both of you later,” he chuckled, “But for now, I believe the feast is beginning.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, thank you for the reminder!” Jaskier patted Geralt’s shoulder and trotted towards the other minstrels. His instructions had said to go to them immediately, but, well, it wasn’t his fault Geralt had claimed him like that.</p><p>Introductions were quick, he was given a list of what songs they were to play, and when he saw that he was allowed one song of his own, he asked the other minstrels eagerly if they knew Fishmonger’s Daughter. They all grinned and said yes, and they conferred with great glee about when they should play it. Jaskier was having so much fun talking to his fellow musicians, he didn’t even notice the guard approaching until the others looked and their eyes widened.</p><p>“Your presence is requested,” the guard told Jaskier flatly.</p><p>He nodded, resettled his lute, waved to the others with a smile, and followed the guard out of the hall.</p><p>The corridors were deserted, but the guard kept his hand on his sword hilt. Jaskier followed silently. Now was not the time to chat.</p><p>They went up three flights of stairs, down another corridor, and then Jaskier was ushered into the intelligence office.</p><p>Three clerks were deciphering coded messages. A fourth stood when Jaskier entered, and beckoned for him to follow through another door. Jaskier did so, keeping his eyes away from the presumably sensitive information being decoded around him.</p><p>The door led to a small room with a table, two chairs, and a lamp. The clerk who had led Jaskier in ushered him to one chair, and took the other for herself. She placed a thick silver coin with a small glass globe on it between them on the table, murmured a spell, and then looked up and said, “Report.”</p><p>Jaskier did so, clearly and truthfully. Brokilon was preparing to invade their neighbors, there was no telling yet how far they would get; two Cintran spies had been caught and executed in Nilfgaard; and the spy in the court of Temeria had given Jaskier a message for the Cintran spymaster. Jaskier brought out the locket he’d kept tucked in his shirt ever since leaving the Temerian capital, and handed it over.</p><p>The clerk nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “The Seekers will receive payment within two weeks. You will be given your portion when you leave. That is all.”</p><p>Jaskier nodded too. “Thank you,” he replied, and stood, and left.</p><p>The guard was still waiting outside. He led Jaskier back to the banquet. Shaking off his contemplative mood, Jaskier put on a smile and bounced right back into socializing.</p><p>He had some lovely drinks, some great food, a moment of shock when the Lioness herself just showed up in bloody armor, and then quite a bit of fun singing and playing and watching the guests dance. He wished he could dance with them. But he was entertainment, not a guest.</p><p>Around the time lords started putting forth their suits, Jaskier got bored and wondered if he could slip away and do something fun. Geralt looked absolutely miserable, poor bastard. Jaskier felt a twinge of guilt for that.</p><p>His guilt vanished with a surge of alarm as he watched the knight’s helmet being knocked off his head.</p><p>The battle began and Jaskier gave no thought to anything except that Geralt and the knight were being overwhelmed and he knew without knowing that there was passion between the knight and the princess and there was no way this could end well—he dropped his lute, took a breath, and yelled with all the power he could gather in his lungs, “WILL YOU ALL JUST BACK THE FUCK OFF?!”</p><p>Several guards were knocked right off their feet. Some yelled and grabbed their heads, like he’d harmed their hearing. Well, he wasn’t surprised; it had been louder than he’d intended, though it got the job done. Suddenly, all eyes were on Jaskier. He tightened his hands into fists, turned to Queen Calanthe, and did the stupidest thing he had ever done: he mouthed off to her.</p><p>“He has every right to be here!” Jaskier snapped, stepping away from the other minstrels so they wouldn’t become targets. “More than many of the other lords gathered! Ordering his death just because he’s cursed is a coward’s response! You’re no coward, your majesty. Why not <em>listen</em>, and <em>then</em> judge?”</p><p>She glared at him, and he was aware that he was well and truly fucked—but it wasn’t <em>right</em>. It wasn’t right, to try to kill someone for being cursed.</p><p>“Mother.”</p><p>Everyone except Jaskier, Calanthe, and Geralt looked to Pavetta. Jaskier took a chance and sent her a thought, a wish, a thread of power: <em>courage</em>. Courage, and conviction. It was there; let it flourish further.</p><p>“Mother, he’s right.” The tap of her shoes, firm and measured, as she descended from the high table and walked closer to the scene. “Please. Let there be justice.”</p><p>Calanthe finally looked away from Jaskier. He saw her rage change, becoming surprise, outrage, bafflement, worry. She looked like a mother worried about her daughter’s choice in suitors, not a warrior queen with a sword in her hand.</p><p>Jaskier began to feel a little dizzy. He braced himself, as mother and daughter spoke, and then turned to the knight. He couldn’t hear voices very well; had he ruined his own hearing? His legs were trembling.</p><p>Someone took hold of his arm, and with that touch, his knees gave out. The someone helped him down slowly to kneel on the ground; Mousesack, he recognized that scent of herbs and magic, now.</p><p>“You shouldn’t have done that,” Mousesack murmured. “You went too far.”</p><p>“It was worth it,” Jaskier whispered.</p><p>And then a scream tore through the air, powerful enough to drive everyone in the hall back towards the walls. Strangely, Jaskier was untouched; his flowers ruffled as if in a breeze, but other than that, this magic had no effect on him. He blinked hard several times as he looked up at the bright light, and saw the princess and the knight, handfasted, slowly spinning as she spoke words of power that unleashed her magic in a blaze that would surely kill her before too long.</p><p>But Jaskier was tired. So all he did was say, “Please come down. You’re scaring your mother.”</p><p>It should have been lost in the gales, the echoing speech, the screams of the others. But somehow, he knew the magic faltered, and he knew it was because she had heard him.</p><p>“Please come down,” he repeated.</p><p>Slowly, ever so slowly, the princess and the knight descended.</p><p>Jaskier passed out around then.</p><p>~</p><p>He was booted from Cintra with only half of the payment he had been promised as an entertainer, but the full payment as informant. He didn’t mind. Especially when he learned that Geralt had claimed the Law of Surprise and gotten a baby. He laughed at Geralt and teased him all the way out of the city.</p><p>When they had exited the city and were well on their way, Jaskier took out the purse he’d received for entertaining and smacked it into Geralt’s chest. The Witcher jumped, and caught the purse when Jaskier let go.</p><p>“I think you deserve Calanthe’s coin more than me,” Jaskier explained cheerfully.</p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt said, and tucked the purse in his belt pouch.</p><p>~</p><p>Jaskier and Geralt traveled together for two months, with only a brief break of a week where Jaskier went to the Seeker’s School and received his next mission. Geralt had been incredulous at first when Jaskier said he needed that time, which had been thrilling, and then his face had cleared and he’d nodded and said, “I won’t tell.”</p><p>So Geralt knew, and had idled in the wilderness a few miles away from the School while Jaskier gave his report and was briefed on his next task, on the behalf of a baron who wished to know if the rich widow he was courting was, indeed, pure of heart and gentle in nature.</p><p>In other words, the baron thought she might be a slut, and he wanted someone to snoop and find out if she was so he could expose her.</p><p>But Jaskier knew not to say that. So he bowed, accepted the little box containing bespelled paper, quill, ink, and sealing wax, and set out again.</p><p>While Jaskier “spied” on the lady in question, Geralt took a job destroying a noonwraith nearby. Jaskier barely needed two days to flirt his way into the nest of gossip that was the servant’s hall, and with a little judicious fertilizing of the natural trust seemingly everyone had for him, he was drawn right into the current betting pool on how long the young widow’s latest lover would last. The odds were fifty to one that she would drop him in a week. Careful questions netted him all the information he needed to write a report. The second night of his stay, when everyone was in bed, he borrowed a glass cup and listened through the wooden wall between the lady’s bedroom and the linen room. She was definitely having sex. So that was at least one lover.</p><p>Jaskier turned over everything he’d learned as he replaced the glass in its cupboard in the kitchen, and decided judiciously to only mention that she flirted and made promises to men. The baron had never said to bring him information about the lady’s bedroom habits—only if she were pure. Jaskier knew from the servants that, though she took many lovers, and often, she was kind, and fair, and gentle. She was a good woman, who also happened to enjoy sex. She was pure.</p><p>And now that Jaskier thought about it, why would the baron want to know if she was a virgin? She had a child from her late husband; how could she be what the baron wanted?</p><p>Perhaps Jaskier had misinterpreted. Alright, then. He would write that, while she seemed to never lack for suitors, she was, indeed, pure of heart and gentle in nature. He’d throw in the tidbits about her flirtations, but leave out the lovers.</p><p>So he wrote his letter, sealed it, and posted it the next morning. He stayed another day, because Geralt had gotten injured again, the buffoon, and the lady flirted with Jaskier too. He gave her absolutely no promises when he flirted back, and when Geralt was ready, Jaskier left with him.</p><p>They had to part again, eventually. Jaskier sighed heavily, but accepted this. He wished he had the nerve to kiss Geralt goodbye. Instead he just squeezed Geralt’s shoulder, wished him luck, and made to take the righthand fork in the road.</p><p>Geralt grabbed his arm suddenly.</p><p>Jaskier turned back, surprised, and his heart gave a lurch when he saw Geralt’s expression; confused, afraid, longing.</p><p>“Ah,” Geralt said.</p><p>Jaskier waited, for once. Was Geralt going to take the next step?</p><p>“You too,” Geralt muttered, and let go and turned away, gaze dropping to the ground.</p><p>And Jaskier fucking snapped.</p><p>“Come here, you oaf,” he said angrily, grabbed the front of Geralt’s armor, and kissed him. It wasn’t a good kiss, but it was firm, and Jaskier thought it got the point across nicely. His anger faded as Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and pulled back only just enough to come together again with less awkwardness. It was… not wonderful, because they were both tired and dirty and slightly smelly and Geralt’s breath was rank. But it was nice, and satisfied a part of Jaskier that had been aching for years now. His Witcher. His Geralt. His hands slid up to cradle Geralt’s face and he hummed happily into the kiss.</p><p>It broke slowly, gently, and Geralt just stared at Jaskier with wide eyes for a long moment. Jaskier chuckled and hugged him, kissing his neck lightly.</p><p>“Well. That’s out of the way,” Jaskier murmured contentedly. “I’ll see you soon, dearheart.”</p><p>“Ah. Yes. Soon.” Geralt sounded adorably flustered, and he seemed very reluctant to let go. But let go they must, and Jaskier grinned at the faint blush on Geralt’s pale cheeks.</p><p>“Good luck,” he repeated softly, dropped one last gentle peck on Geralt’s lips, and walked away, smiling.</p><p>~</p><p>Jaskier did not know how in the name of Mother the letter found him, but for some godsforsaken reason, he was invited to the naming-day of Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon of Cintra, first child of Her Highness Princess Pavetta Fiona Elen and His Highness Prince Duny of Maecht. The letter did not mention Calanthe, though it had Eist’s seal.</p><p>Jaskier shrugged and decided to go.</p><p>There was a bit of a problem in that he had no gift for the princess. He certainly couldn’t <em>afford</em> a gift; he may be more prosperous now that he had a job that paid better than singing at inns, but he was not wealthy or rich. He could make something, but he wasn’t sure what. What could he possibly offer a <em>princess</em>?</p><p>He was walking through the plains when he halted and hit his own forehead. Of course! The flowers! He could make a little posy and bless it, and she could have it for whenever she needed a little boost magically. He laughed aloud at his own obtuseness, then continued walking, now with a bounce in his step.</p><p>What blessing would a princess like? Not beauty, her parents were already quite attractive; not a sweet temper, because he would not wish such a curse on <em>any</em> child; not obedience, that would make her miserable. Health, maybe? Definitely intelligence, wisdom, mental agility. Perhaps physical strength, the vigor of young muscles nourished and maintained. Yes, strength, because Pavetta was her mother and would want her to learn how to be gentle, but Calanthe was her grandmother and dear little Cirilla should be prepared for any intense training the queen ordered.</p><p>He reached the Cintran capital more quickly than he had anticipated, and paid a tailor for a new suit in the current style. While that was being made, he earned his keep in an inn, singing and playing. More and more nobles were arriving, and Jaskier stayed out of their way.</p><p>The name-day arrived, and Jaskier sauntered through the gates in his new clothes, feeling odd without his lute. He was on the guest list, though, and pointed towards a the place where he could leave his gift. He had invested in some silk ribbon and gold wire, and wrapped six flowers into a posy small enough for a child, whispering his intentions to the flowers as he worked. Dandelion, buttercup, and poppy. Strength, courage, intelligence; laughter, love, clear sight. These wishes he steeped his gift in, and when he was sent to the pile of expensive boxes and wrapped toys, he set the posy on top of a chest, and smiled impishly when Mousesack approached, brow furrowed, gazing sternly at the flowers.</p><p>“Nothing to harm anyone,” he informed the sorcerer quietly. “They’re just gifts.”</p><p>“May I?” Mousesack murmured, intrigued. Jaskier nodded, and Mousesack picked up the posy, turning it over in his hands, apparently fascinated. “This is… quite a strong enchantment,” he said finally, looking up and meeting Jaskier’s eyes.</p><p>Jaskier shrugged. “An apology, of sorts. For Geralt’s stupidity.”</p><p>Mousesack snorted, but nodded and set the posy down again. Then he said, “They’ve got you seated at the lowest table. Come, sit with me. We’re short a sorcerer.”</p><p>Jaskier did not show his alarm, just nodded.</p><p>The other sorcerers looked at Jaskier with disapproval, but when Mousesack sat Jaskier next to him and poured him some wine, they resigned themselves to him being the higher guest. It was very irritating, because almost immediately a very snooty one said snidely, “And who is this fresh-faced apprentice of yours, Mousesack?”</p><p>“This is Bard Jaskier,” Mousesack replied. “Jaskier, that smug snake is Stregobor.”</p><p>The sorcerer on Jaskier’s other side snorted. Others hid their grins, as Stregobor glared at Mousesack, who smiled back easily, before turning back to Jaskier and asking, “So, have you spoken to our friend lately?”</p><p>“It’s been a month,” Jaskier replied, and sighed. “I only hope he doesn’t get eaten before I finish this next song. I need his opinion on whether to keep the line about onions.”</p><p>Mousesack grinned. “Oh? He actually gives you his <em>opinions</em>?”</p><p>“Yes, and I always do the opposite of what he suggests, which is why he keeps giving them,” Jaskier replied, warming to the subject and gleeful that everyone else was baffled. “I wager I have til midsummer before he gives in and leaves me for the ghouls. I’ll manage a final epic ode before then, though.”</p><p>“Who are you talking about?” the man across from Jaskier asked, miffed.</p><p>Jaskier smiled. “Geralt of Rivia,” he answered easily.</p><p>Silence around the table, as everyone stared at him. And then everyone looked at Stregobor. Jaskier did too, puzzled.</p><p>Stregobor was clutching the stem of his wine goblet so tightly his knuckles were white, and his eyes almost bulged in his set face. Then he smiled tightly, and said, “I was not aware that the Butcher of Blaviken was worthy of song.”</p><p>Jaskier felt a small, cold smile unfurl on his face. He was remembering what Geralt had told him, now, and oh, he hated that title so much. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” he replied softly. “Killer of princesses, defiler of the dead, and yet it upsets you that a Witcher is praised and you are ignored. Shall I write an ode to you, too? It might not be very popular. No one likes hearing songs about sadists.”</p><p>Stregobor stood suddenly, his hands tightened into fists. Jaskier stood too, and asked sweetly, “Are you truly prepared to make a scene in the court of the Lioness herself?”</p><p>Others were staring, now. The other sorcerers looked horrified. Mousesack sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead.</p><p>“You insolent <em>brat</em>,” Stregobor hissed.</p><p>Jaskier’s smile widened, and he sensed a flicker of uncertainty on Stregobor’s face. “It’s true, I’m not one for being meek and obedient. Much more fun to be a prick. Shall we sit, sir?”</p><p>“I will not sit at a table with a Witcher’s bitch,” Stregobor spat, and shoved his chair aside to stomp out of the hall. Jaskier shrugged and sat again.</p><p>“Sorry about that, Mousesack,” he said. “I didn’t know he was so easy to bait.”</p><p>Mousesack gave Jaskier a dry look. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Was that ever in any doubt?” Jaskier asked cheerfully.</p><p>After the feast came the presents. Most lords and ladies had servants bring the gifts forward and a herald proclaim what the gifts were and how they hoped the princess would enjoy them. Jaskier was actually startled when a servant tapped his shoulder, handed him his posy, and whispered, “You next, sir.”</p><p>“Thank you,” he replied softly, and stood, ignoring the way the sorcerers were staring at the posy. Perhaps they had recognized the enchantments. When the herald for the last guest moved out of the way, Jaskier brought the posy forward himself. Instead of just leaving it on the growing pile, he walked right up to Pavetta, Duny, and the cradle, and smiled at the parents. “Mousesack already went over this,” he said, making sure he could be heard without being obnoxious. “Just some wishes for the princess. I’m sorry I couldn’t afford anything more.”</p><p>“What are these wishes?” Calanthe demanded sharply from the side.</p><p>Jaskier didn’t take his eyes off the surprised parents. “Wishes to nurture her innate self. Intelligence, courage, strength. Laughter. It will work better the sooner she has it.”</p><p>Pavetta hesitated, then reached forward. Jaskier stepped closer to hand over the posy. As he did, he heard a delighted squeal from the cradle, and couldn’t help grinning down at the baby currently kicking and reaching for him. “Hello, little one,” he said softly. “I hope you grow up strong like your parents.”</p><p>The baby princess laughed.</p><p>Jaskier bowed to the royal family, and turned to go back to his seat. The next gift was being hurried forward.</p><p>There was a tingle of pressure in the air. Jaskier froze, as his flowers closed and retracted to his scalp.</p><p>Disease manifested in the middle of the hall.</p><p>People shrieked. Disease smiled though rotting gums, his sagging body hidden by a long, red, stained robe. It was not a nasty smile; more relieved, which was odd.</p><p>“Hello, Uncle,” he croaked. “I’m the first to find you, I see.”</p><p>Jaskier smiled back, and strolled towards him. “Hello, Nephew. What are you here for? You’re scaring people.”</p><p>“I came to warn you. He knows the taste of your power, now. He is searching ever wider, and his spies are many. This place is very well protected; the humans have done a good job. But you need to move, soon.”</p><p>Jaskier nodded. “I know. I’ll be leaving tonight. Thank you for the warning. Please tell your father I said he can go fuck himself.”</p><p>Disease laughed, a creaky, desolate sound. “Father wishes to apologize, but he can’t find you, and I’m not telling him.”</p><p>“Lovely!” Jaskier looked around, at all the frightened faces. “I think perhaps you should go, before someone tracks you.”</p><p>“Yes. Take care, Uncle.”</p><p>Disease vanished with a pop, and Jaskier sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, fuck,” he muttered. Then he turned back to the royal family and bowed again. “I’ll leave now. Thank you for the invitation. I promise never to set foot here again.” He turned again, waved to Mousesack, and trotted out of the hall.</p><p>~</p><p>Winter approached. Jaskier decided to visit Oxenfurt again, simply out of curiosity. He had no missions that winter, so why not see how the place was holding up?</p><p>He was on the road and it was beginning to snow when the bandits grabbed him.</p><p>“Come now, lads, I’m hardly worth your time,” he said, trying to be reasonable as they tied his hands together behind his back and started dragging him through the forest. “I swear I haven’t got much money, but you can definitely have it. Please let me go, I shan’t tell the authorities—”</p><p>“Shut him up,” the leader interrupted, and one of their number punched Jaskier.</p><p>“Right,” Jaskier muttered, and concentrated on his flowers.</p><p>One of the bandits started sneezing as the cloud of golden pollen and white dandelion seeds released from Jaskier’ flowers. The others yelped and jerked away from him, and the leader snarled, “What kind of fucking spell is that?!”</p><p>“You’ll see,” Jaskier said with a smile, and sent out his power.</p><p>One after the other, the seeds wormed their way into the lungs, took root, and grew. One by one, the bandits dropped, gasping for air and getting none, roots choking their lungs and stems filling their throats.</p><p>Jaskier stood and watched calmly as the bandits writhed and bucked and wheezed, trying to tear out the flowers and breathe. His power was strong, though, and soon they were all dead, their mouths full of dandelions. He concentrated and encouraged the growth of decay on the rope around his wrist, until he could snap the damn thing and bring his arms around front, hissing at the pain. Grass and flowers bloomed around him at the overspill of his power. He sighed heavily, grabbed his things, looted the bodies, and went back to the road.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am... really not happy with how this is turning out. Like. It is making me so anxious I am physically sick to try and continue this. So I might take about a month off or something, try some other stuff. I WILL return to this, swear on my life.</p><p>In the meantime feel free to yell at me for failing to live up to last chapter laksdhgapd;lk</p><p>Edit: Y'all's comments are making me wanna cry I love you so much</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IT'S BACK, Y'ALL</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier was kicked out of the Seekers for no reason that they could give, so he went back to wandering. He suspected one of his siblings had found out and whispered to them that he was too dangerous.</p><p>But wandering just meant he could spend more time with Geralt.</p><p>They only ever kissed. Geralt still didn’t like any kind of touch that might be perceived as romantic, though he didn’t mind Jaskier just doing as they had always done. But he seemed to like the kisses. The gentle pecks before bed. The firm ones wishing him luck on hunts. The relieved ones that Jaskier peppered him with when he came back alive. The soft caressing ones against the dark veins that appeared after a potion. The slow, sweet ones when they had all the time in the world.</p><p>Each one made Jaskier giddy, but he managed not to show that. Every kiss was a chip in that shell of self-loathing and desperate rejection of any kind of attachment. Every time he woke to Geralt’s hand fiddling with the pendant he’d given Jaskier was a crack in the edifice of ‘I don’t need anyone’. Every surge of relief Jaskier allowed himself to show when Geralt came back from a particularly dangerous hunt was a soft scrape against the plaster walls of ‘I don’t want anyone needing me’.</p><p>Jaskier almost forgot his siblings, sticking close to Geralt. What point was there to worrying about his divine siblings, when he could show Geralt care, and gentleness, and love?</p><p>It took a few years, but Jaskier finally heard the whispers when he was considering buying a new water bottle.</p><p>“Aye, Witchers aren’t human, but if the White Wolf loves the Lark, then what does that say about their hearts?”</p><p>Jaskier pretended not to hear, and paid for his choice.</p><p>Then he heard them often. People being worried about Geralt’s intentions towards Jaskier, and others assuring that the two of them were in love. It was in the music, couldn’t you tell? It was the way they turned towards each other no matter who they were around (that one Jaskier didn’t believe until he actually paid attention to his and Geralt’s body language). It was the Lark’s voice when he talked about the Wolf, and the Wolf’s eyes when he looked at the Lark. It was how they worked together to subdue and kill monsters. It was how they traveled together so often and for so long. It was the way the Lark lit up when the Wolf appeared, and the way the Wolf’s attention always returned to the Lark.</p><p>Jaskier did not bring up these rumors to Geralt. Mostly because they were true. He didn’t know if Geralt loved him, but he was embarrassed to know that his own feelings were so very obvious. Well, he’d never been good at hiding them.</p><p>One night, when they were camped in the woods and Geralt was off to hunt supper, Jaskier knelt by the fire, pressed his palms together, and asked, <em>Sister? Love? Can I ask you something?</em></p><p>Instead of answering in his mind, the smell of roses filled the clearing, and Love walked out of the trees to settle next to him, smirking.</p><p>“I know exactly what you’re going to ask,” she teased.</p><p>“Oh, stop it,” Fertility muttered, blushing. “If you already know, can you give me an answer?”</p><p>Love inspected her nails, looking smug and mischievous. “Absolutely not,” she drawled. “But I’ll give you another question. Why do you care so much?”</p><p>“Because I—” Fertility stopped, groaned, and rubbed his burning face with both hands. Love laughed brightly, and shoved his shoulder gently. “Damn it, Love! Yes, alright, I adore him with every fiber of my being and I want him to feel the same way, happy?”</p><p>“Absolutely. You know, I’m glad you feel that way. Out of all of us, you’re the one who deserves it most.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and hugged him, kissing his cheek. Then she whispered evilly, “He may claim he doesn’t have a heart, but it’s certainly full of my gift at the moment. Why do you think he’s taking so long?”</p><p>“Because he’s not having much luck?” Fertility hazarded, his heart speeding up.</p><p>Love snickered. “Oh, brother, you’re so adorably stupid sometimes. Lust gave me a bit of an update just now. What do humans do when they’re lusting but can’t get a mate?”</p><p>Fertility stared at her, shocked, and she laughed again. “Oh, yes, he’s definitely full of her gift, too! Friendship’s, too. Heartless my left tit. That Witcher is so full of emotion it’s ridiculous. And much of it is tied to you.”</p><p>Fertility was quiet for a moment. Then he asked softly, “So he does love me?”</p><p>Love leaned her head on his and hugged him tighter. “It’s more possible than any other explanation,” she hedged teasingly.</p><p>They were both silent for a while, watching the flames. Then Love sighed, and said softly, “You’re so very <em>human</em> now, brother. I’m glad of it. You always were a lover not a fighter, but now you’ve got such a big heart. Bigger than any of the rest of us. Please don’t let that stop you from what’s necessary, though. Please.”</p><p>Fertility turned his head and kissed her rose-scented hair. “I swear I won’t.”</p><p>Then of course there was the crackle of footsteps in the undergrowth, and Love vanished in a swirl of rose breeze. Jaskier looked up, and smiled at Geralt, who was frowning and sniffing the air intently. “Hello again! What did you catch this time?”</p><p>“Where did that smell come from?” Geralt retorted suspiciously.</p><p>Jaskier’s smile quivered. “Would you be angry if I told you it’s nothing to worry about?” he hedged.</p><p>“Yes,” Geralt replied.</p><p>“Ah. Alright.” Jaskier lowered his gaze to the fire, and tried to think of a way to explain. He couldn’t just say right out that he was a god—that would make things worse. So he would have to think of something more acceptable, safer.</p><p>“I didn’t say you <em>can’t</em> say that,” Geralt blurted irritably.</p><p>Jaskier blinked, and raised his head to stare for a moment. Then he said, “It’s not something to worry about. It really isn’t.”</p><p>Geralt’s mouth tightened, but he nodded sharply and walked over to sit across the fire. Jaskier’s chest hurt suddenly; Geralt usually sat beside him. Maybe Love had been wrong. Maybe Geralt didn’t have romantic feelings for Jaskier. Which was fine. It really was fine. Jaskier didn’t mind.</p><p>His throat felt tight.</p><p>~</p><p>Geralt kissed Jaskier first in the morning. Jaskier was rubbing his eyes and yawning when Geralt leaned over and kissed his nose, then got up to start breakfast.</p><p>The dread in Jaskier’s stomach fluttered away, and he smiled all morning.</p><p>Time seemed to melt and grow woozy. Jaskier could remember the passing of seasons if he tried, but he preferred to focus on one day at a time. He took small, independent contracts between traveling with Geralt, and smiled the first time someone asked if he and Geralt of Rivia were lovers.</p><p>“Depends on the definition, really,” Jaskier answered. “Excuse me, sir.”</p><p>Of course, the next time they met up, the rumors had redoubled in number and strength. Geralt’s face was tight and foreboding as he walked down the street, but when Jaskier called his name and waved, the tightness eased. They left that town together, and Jaskier watched with amusement as Geralt began to blush at the whispers.</p><p>“They think we’re...” Geralt mumbled, trailing off.</p><p>“Yes,” Jaskier replied placidly. Then, because he really was an idiot, he asked, “Are we?”</p><p>Geralt swallowed hard. They had passed the last of the houses in the town, and were now walking down an empty road. Finally, his eyes still straight ahead, Geralt muttered, “I… would like that. If we were.”</p><p>And Jaskier felt himself grin so wide his face hurt. “I would, too,” he replied softly.</p><p>~</p><p>There was nothing big. Nothing really changed drastically. It was a slow, gentle slide into a different form of warmth. Maybe the kisses lingered a little longer, and the trust was more visible. Maybe they shared clothes more often. Maybe they snuggled a little closer at night.</p><p>The first time they had sex, Geralt was uncertain what to do but determined to try, until Jaskier was all the way in and kissed him long and soft. Then he relaxed, and it was a good night.</p><p>Sometimes Jaskier found himself looking at Geralt. Just looking. There was so much to look at. Geralt usually noticed because Jaskier would go quiet, and then he’d look up and Jaskier would smile and he’d look away again, but with a tiny pleased smile of his own.</p><p>Sometimes Jaskier would be talking, or singing, or playing his lute, and he’d look over and Geralt would be staring at him with a soft expression that could almost be called <em>loving</em>. It always made Jaskier’s breath catch.</p><p>Sometimes Geralt would be overbearingly protective. Sometimes Jaskier would be the same. Every time, they would tell each other off and the night would end with a kiss and a cuddle.</p><p>In the twenty-second year of their acquaintance—the fifth of their being lovers—Geralt asked Jaskier softly if he would like to come with him for the winter.</p><p>Jaskier kissed him and said yes.</p><p>But Destiny, youngest of the first-born, had always been a little cruel.</p><p>~</p><p>Geralt was looking for a djinn and Jaskier was composing a song about a certain person’s lovely ass, which made Geralt send him warning looks that were ruined by a tiny smile and the fact that he didn’t mind Jaskier’s stare, when Love appeared in a swirl of rose-scented breeze.</p><p>Geralt straightened immediately, scrabbling for a weapon he didn’t have, but Love snapped at him, “Hold your horses, Witcher, I’m not here for you.” She turned to Jaskier and said, “He’s closing in. The army is mobilized, and they’re headed for Cintra. You have to hurry.”</p><p>Fertility’s heart jumped and his chest tightened. “Shit,” he said. “Cintra—why is he moving for Cintra?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Love answered, looking pained. “We’re trying to stall him, but he’s hungry. Destiny said there’s a child there—an important one, one that will change the world. She won’t tell anyone more than that.” Love took a deep breath, and stepped forward to cup Fertility’s face in her hands. “You have to hurry, brother,” she repeated. “We’re doing what we can, but he is strong. We need you.”</p><p>Fertility nodded. “I’ll be there,” he promised.</p><p>“Thank you.” She kissed his forehead and vanished in a puff of rose.</p><p>“...What the fuck,” Geralt said, bewildered.</p><p>Jaskier blinked, and turned to him, feeling shaky and confused, his brain in an uproar. Afraid, dreading, furious, and a deep, sick, blood-tasting glee that he would finally have a chance to strike the god who brought him down.</p><p>“That was my sister,” he told Geralt. “There’s a war beginning, and I have to be part of it.”</p><p>“What?” Geralt exclaimed, alarm on his face. “What war? You can’t go to war—”</p><p>“I have to,” Jaskier interrupted firmly. “The one who killed my mother is there, and I want the chance to punish him.” His hands clenched, and he could feel the plants at his feet begin to grow, as they hadn’t in about three years. “And I have a suspicion that the child is key to defeating his army. If I can distract him enough for them to get away…” He snapped his eyes back to Geralt and said, “I have to go there.”</p><p>“Then I’ll come with you,” Geralt replied.</p><p>“You will be targeted,” Jaskier warned him, “And I’m not sure Witcher mutations can help against gods.”</p><p>Geralt didn’t even blink. “I don’t see how that’s a problem.”</p><p>Jaskier grinned. “Alright. First—that djinn. Then, we move.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter has been started. It will be Long. Pls forgive, it will be finished in a bit. And thank you for sticking around! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have no idea when this will update I am sorry, but I do have five "chapters" written</p><p>if u would like to yell at me for any reason please feel free to comment</p></blockquote></div></div>
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